WOODS IN WINTER. 145 For him the wind, ay, and the yellow leaves Shall have a voice, and give him eloquent teachings. He shall so hear the solemn hymn, that Death Has lifted up for all, that he shall go To his long resting-place without a tear. WOODS IN WINTER. WHEN winter winds are piercing chill, And through the hawthorn blows the gale, With solemn feet I tread the hill, That overbrows the lonely vale. O'er the bare upland, and away Through the long reach of desert woods, Where, twisted round the barren oak, The crystal icicle is hung. Where, from their frozen urns mute springs Shrilly the skater's iron rings, And voices fill the woodland side. T Alas! how changed from the fair scene, But still wild music is abroad, Pale, desert woods! within your crowd; And gathering winds, in hoarse accord, Amid the vocal reeds pipe loud. HYMN OF THE MORAVIAN NUNS OF BETHLEHEM. 147 Chill airs and wintry winds! my ear Has grown familiar with your song; I hear it in the opening year, I listen, and it cheers me long. HYMN OF THE MORAVIAN NUNS OF BETHLEHEM, AT THE CONSECRATION OF PULASKI'S BANNER. WHEN the dying flame of day The blood-red banner, that with prayer And the nun's sweet hymn was heard the while, "Take thy banner! May it wave "Take thy banner! and, beneath In the rush of steeds and men, "Take thy banner! But, when night Spare him!-By our holy vow, By our prayers and many tears, Spare him!-he our love hath shared! Spare him as thou wouldst be spared! "Take thy banner !—and if e'er Thou shouldst press the soldier's bier, To the tread of mournful feet, Then this crimson flag shall be The warrior took that banner proud, And it was his martial cloak and shroud SUNRISE ON THE HILLS. I STOOD upon the hills, when heaven's wide arch The clouds were far beneath me ;-bathed in light, Like hosts in battle overthrown, As many a pinnacle, with shifting glance, Through the gray mist thrust up its shattered lance, And rocking on the cliff was left The dark pine blasted, bare, and cleft. The veil of cloud was lifted, and below Glowed the rich valley, and the river's flow Was darkened by the forest's shade, Where upward, in the mellow blush of day, I heard the distant waters dash, I saw the current whirl and flash,— And richly, by the blue lake's silver beach, The woods were bending with a silent reach. Then o'er the vale, with gentle swell, The music of the village bell Came sweetly to the echo-giving hills; And the wild horn, whose voice the woodland fills, |