The license of the happy woods, The brook's release are ours; The freedom of the unshamed wind Among the glad-eyed flowers.
Yet here no evil thought finds place, Nor foot profane comes in; Our grove, like that of Samothrace, Is set apart from sin.
We walk on holy ground; above A sky more holy smiles; The chant of the beatitudes Swells down these leafy aisles.
Thanks to the gracious Providence That brings us here once more; For memories of the good behind And hopes of good before.
And if, unknown to us, sweet days Of June like this must come, Unseen of us these laurels clothe The river-banks with bloom;
And these green paths must soon be trod By other feet than ours, Full long may annual pilgrims come To keep the Feast of Flowers;
The matron be a girl once more, The bearded man a boy, And we, in heaven's eternal June, Be glad for earthly joy!
1876.
HYMN
FOR THE OPENING OF THOMAS STARR KING'S HOUSE OF WORSHIP, 1864.
The poetic and patriotic preacher, who had won fame in the East, went to California in 1860 and became a power on the Pacific coast. It was not long after the opening of the house of worship built for him that he died.
Amidst these glorious works of Thine, The solemn minarets of the pine, And awful Shasta's icy shrine,--
Where swell Thy hymns from wave and gale, And organ-thunders never fail, Behind the cataract's silver veil,
Our puny walls to Thee we raise, Our poor reed-music sounds Thy praise: Forgive, O Lord, our childish ways!
For, kneeling on these altar-stairs, We urge Thee not with selfish prayers, Nor murmur at our daily cares.
Before Thee, in an evil day, Our country's bleeding heart we lay, And dare not ask Thy hand to stay;
But, through the war-cloud, pray to Thee For union, but a union free, With peace that comes of purity!
That Thou wilt bare Thy arm to, save And, smiting through this Red Sea wave, Make broad a pathway for the slave!
For us, confessing all our need, We trust nor rite nor word nor deed, Nor yet the broken staff of creed.
Assured alone that Thou art good To each, as to the multitude, Eternal Love and Fatherhood,--
Weak, sinful, blind, to Thee we kneel, Stretch dumbly forth our hands, and feel Our weakness is our strong appeal.
So, by these Western gates of Even We wait to see with Thy forgiven The opening Golden Gate of Heaven!
Suffice it now. In time to be Shall holier altars rise to Thee,-- Thy Church our broad humanity
White flowers of love its walls shall climb, Soft bells of peace shall ring its chime, Its days shall all be holy time.
A sweeter song shall then be heard,-- The music of the world's accord Confessing Christ, the Inward Word!
That song shall swell from shore to shore, One hope, one faith, one love, restore The seamless robe that Jesus wore.
HYMN
FOR THE HOUSE OF WORSHIP AT GEORGETOWN, ERECTED IN MEMORY OF A MOTHER.
The giver of the house was the late George Peabody, of London.
Thou dwellest not, O Lord of all In temples which thy children raise; Our work to thine is mean and small, And brief to thy eternal days.
Forgive the weakness and the pride, If marred thereby our gift may be, For love, at least, has sanctified The altar that we rear to thee.
The heart and not the hand has wrought From sunken base to tower above The image of a tender thought, The memory of a deathless love!
And though should never sound of speech Or organ echo from its wall, Its stones would pious lessons teach, Its shade in benedictions fall.
Here should the dove of peace be found, And blessings and not curses given; Nor strife profane, nor hatred wound, The mingled loves of earth and heaven.
Thou, who didst soothe with dying breath The dear one watching by Thy cross, Forgetful of the pains of death In sorrow for her mighty loss,
In memory of that tender claim, O Mother-born, the offering take, And make it worthy of Thy name, And bless it for a mother's sake!
1868.
A SPIRITUAL MANIFESTATION.
Read at the President's Levee, Brown University, 29th 6th month, 1870.
To-day the plant by Williams set Its summer bloom discloses; The wilding sweethrier of his prayers Is crowned with cultured roses.
Once more the Island State repeats The lesson that he taught her, And binds his pearl of charity Upon her brown-locked daughter.
Is 't fancy that he watches still His Providence plantations?
That still the careful Founder takes A part on these occasions.
Methinks I see that reverend form, Which all of us so well know He rises up to speak; he jogs The presidential elbow.
"Good friends," he says, "you reap a field I sowed in self-denial, For toleration had its griefs And charity its trial.