There gathering vultures’ sounding wings swoop on their hapless prey;
And they clamour round their victim ere life has ebbed away.
The “ringhals” rises on his coil at the startled traveller’s side;
The false mirage’s wavy streams in phantom ripples glide.
Strange sounds are in the wilderness: the wild dog’s plaintive wail,
As he calls his fellows from afar, comes faintly on the gale.
The vulture’s voice screams harshly, as he sights his prey on high;
The bursting meteor echoes from the regions of the sky.
A thousand insect voices, with their thousand notes are there;
With chirrup, ring, or buzz of wing, they fill the sounding air;
And waking fancy starts to hear the trumpet’s note afar;
The pibroch’s martial gathering, the barbarian’s cry of war.
But the wilderness has lessons: in danger’s lonely hour,
How weak man’s solitary arm! How vain his boast of power!
The humbled spirit learns to look for Heaven’s protecting care;
Is safety in the wilderness? Then God is present there.
The wilderness might wean the heart from earth and earthly love;
And bid the freed affections soar to happier realms above.
Look now upon this barren waste, then turn thy wistful eyes
To the fields where flowers immortal bloom, beyond the starry skies.
No scorching sun, no withering wind, no serpent’s tooth is there:
No vulture swoop of terror; no locust-cloud of care.
No faithless mocking phantom-streams the longing eyes beguile;
But living fountains sparkle bright in God’s eternal smile.
Rev. H. H. Dugmore.
A SUNRISE THOUGHT AT “COVE ROCK.”
King of the Golden Orient:—lo! he comes
And mounts, magnificent, his burning throne;
Smiling in glory o’er the world of waters,
Whose joyous waves leap welcome to his coming.
See how the streaming rays, his almoners,
Fling forth his largesses in flashing brilliants.
Which the waves catch, and toss from crest to crest
In dancing rapture! ’Tis a glorious sight
To see a king right welcome to his subjects;
To hear the voice of gladness universal
Greeting his royal smile. Not sea alone,
But ocean, earth, and sky join look and voice
In smile and song. See there in the far west,
Where little cloudlets cluster, as they hang
In modest diffidence upon the outskirts
Of the vast audience-throng: they too are flushing
Bright with the universal joy:—and hark!
Breezes are striking their Æolian harps
Among the woods that wave along the hills;
While the deep voices of the surge, far pealing,
Thunder their ceaseless anthem to his praise.
Brief, as befitting, is the monarch’s audience;
For who may look upon the King of light
With eye unblenching? Now in massy folds,
The darkening curtains of his cloud pavilion
Gather around him;—and though dazzling still
Their broad gold fringes wave, the weak eye rests
From his transpiercing glance of unveiled glory.
Hail! glorious image of the King of Kings!
Seen or unseen, thou givest light, and life,
And joy, and beauty to revolving worlds
That circle round thy throne. Centre of power!
Thy mystery of might upholds, sustains,
And governs as the Delegate of God,
Their measured harmony of ceaseless motion;
Reining their fleetness with “an arm of strength”
Felt and obeyed in the far depths of space,
Where roll remotest planets round their spheres
In twilight solitude, unseen, unknown.