As the bright flashing of its gushing water, Glad as the tones of merriment and glee That joyous burst from children in their laughter, Swift dashes onward to the boundless sea?
Hast thou not been where the enamelled mead Its beauty gave to the enraptured sense, And the crushed lily, from the elastic tread, Yielded its life in breath of sweets intense?
Hast thou not been in spring-time's early hours, Where the lone bird its short sweet carol gave To the young bursting leaves and budding flowers, Beside some wildly-rushing mountain wave?
Not such the lay it sings in summer hours, When love beats high within its little breast, And its exulting song it joyous pours, Where thick embowering leaves conceal its nest.
Hast thou not marked, when autumn's gorgeous glory Fled in the rushing of the hurrying blast, The deep'ning pathos of the moral story Sighed in each cadence, as it onward passed.
Hast thou not heard the ancient forests, bending To the far sweeping of the mighty wind, Send forth a solemn sound, as though responding To voices deep that secret powers unbind?
Hast thou not stood where ocean madly raging, Rolled onward as with overmastering shock: 'Till hushed the storm, the chaféd surge assuaging, It gently laved the firm-opposing rock?
Hast thou not gleaned a lesson to thy reason From winter's fostering power and spring's awakening reign; Summer's brief heat, autumn's maturing season, And learned vicissitudes are not in vain?
But from the varied page outspread before thee, Garner'd of wisdom for thy fleeting days, Whether the sunshine or the storm be o'er thee, Forward to look with hope, and trust, and praise?
_Newport, Rhode-Island, Dec., 1843._ E. R. G. H.
At Christmas every body is or should be happy. The genial influence of the season lightens alike the lofty hall and the lowly cottage. It is the same at home or abroad, on the land or the billow, in royal purple or in ragged poverty; here and every where, to one and to all, it is always 'merrie Christmas.' At such a time there is an obligation due from every man to society, to be happy, and the more cheerfully it is paid, the better. The man who would be found scowling and glowering like a thunder-cloud, cherishing his private griefs or animosities at a time when every other countenance is glowing with light, and hope, and sunshine, should be denied all the charities of humanity, and exiled to Kamschatka, or some other inhospitable clime, to growl and fret with the wild beasts, or the wilder elements.