« AnteriorContinuar »
With less of grief than joy;
I am no more a boy!
I've never had the gout, 'tis true,
My hair is hardly gray;
Laugh on, laugh on, to-day!
I used to have as glad a face,
As shadowless a brow;
As you are running now;
Don't interrupt your play,
Laugh on, laugh on, to-day !
ARTHUR CLEVELAND COXE is an Episcopal clergyman, and was born at Mendham, in New Jersey, in the year 1818. He is a lyric poet of remarkable merit, and writes chiefly on religious themes. The following is one of his best productions. HYMN OF BOYHOOD.
A. CLEVELAND COX..
The first dear thing that I ever loved,
Was a mother's gentle eye,
That cradled my infancy.
That smile in my spirit stirred,
Till I laughed like a joyous bird.
Was a bunch of summer flowers,
With odors, and hues, and loveliness,
Fresh as from Eden's bowers.
Nor smell such sweet perfume;
'Tis I that have lost the bloom.
And the next dear thing that ever I loved,
Was a fawn-like little maid,
That tortured her doll, and played :
Which rude, rough zephyrs tease,
With my whirling bonnet's breeze.
Was a bow-kite in the sky;
And a dog for my company;
To my measured strike and true;
When Even was out so blue.
v. And the next fair thing I was fond to love,
Was a field of wavy grain,
On the billowy, billowy main :
That I felt like a man to stride;
With a helin it was hard to guide.
Is tenderer far to tell;
That dazzled me with its spell :
Were only the landscape now,
In the glow of my early vow.
And the next good thing I was fain to love,
Was to sit in my cell alone,
Forever, forever down.
Where wantoned the autumn wind,
In harmony with my mind.
And a spirit was on me that next I loved,
That ruleth my spirit still,
Albeit against my will.
And then did I love the snow;
Like the LORD's own organ blow.
And the bush I had loved in my greenwood walk,
I saw it afar away,
That kneels in the church to pray:
And I thought of the vaulted fane, and high,
Where I stood when a little child, Awed by the lauds sung thrillingly,
And the anthems undefiled.
And again to the vaulted church I went,
And I heard the same sweet prayers,
And the same soft soothing airs;
To think of the race I ran,
In the soul of the boy and man.
And that froze on my lids, did fall,
Like scales on the eyes of Paul: And the dear thing I was fond to love,
Was that holy service high, That lifted my soul to joys above
And pleasures that do not die.
And then, said I, one thing there is
That I of the LORD desire,
I will of the LORD require,-
As long as my life shall be;
In the home of His glory see.