O Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love All pray in their distress, And to these virtues of delight Return their thankfulness.
For Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love Is God our Father dear; And Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love Is man, his child and care.
For Mercy has a human heart; Pity, a human face; And Love, the human form divine; - And Peace, the human dress.
Thus every man in every clime, That prays in his distress, Prays to the Human Form divine, - Love, Mercy, Pity, Peace.
And all must love the Human Forın, In heathen, Turk, or Jew: Where Mercy, Love, and Pity dwell, There God is dwelling too.
HE harp at Nature's advent strung Has never ceased to play; The song the stars of morning sung Has never died away.
And prayer is made, and praise is given, By all things near and far: The ocean looketh up to heaven, And mirrors every star.
Its waves are kneeling on the strand, As kneels the human knee; Their white locks bowing to the sand, - The priesthood of the sea.
They pour their glittering treasures forth; Their gifts of pearl they bring; And all the listening hills of earth Take up the song they sing.
The green Earth sends her incense up From many a mountain shrine:
From folded leaf and dewy cup She pours her sacred wine.
The mists above the morning rills Rise white as wings of prayer;
The altar curtains of the hills
Are sunset's purple air.
The winds with hymns of praise are loud,
Or low with sobs of pain,
The thunder organ of the cloud,
The dropping tears of rain.
With drooping head, and branches crossed, The twilight forest grieves,
Or speaks with tongues of Pentecost From all its sunlit leaves.
The blue sky is the temple's arch; Its transept, earth and air; The music of its starry march, The chorus of its prayer.
So Nature keeps the reverent frame With which her years began, And all her signs and voices shame The prayerless heart of man.
J. G. Whittier.
8. THE CALL OF THE FLOWERS.
O! the lilies of the field,
How their leaves instruction yield!
Hark to Nature's lesson given By the blessed birds of heaven! Every bush and tufted tree Warbles sweet philosophy: "Children, fly from doubt and sorrow : God provideth for the morrow!"
Say, with richer crimson glows The kingly mantle than the rose? Say, have kings more wholesome fare Than we poor citizens of air? Barns nor hoarded grain have we; Yet we carol merrily. "Children, fly from doubt and sorrow: God provideth for the morrow."
One there lives whose guardian eye Guides our humble destiny; One there lives, who, Lord of all, Keeps his creatures, lest they fall. Pass we blithely, then, the time, Fearless of the snare and lime, Free from doubt and faithless sorrow: God provideth for the morrow.
9. THE CALL OF THE BIRDS.
IST to the birds that sing!
Pluck the primroses; pluck the violets;
Pluck the daisies;
Sing their praises :
Friendship with the flowers noble thoughts
Come forth and gather these sweet elves; Come and gather them yourselves;
Learn of the gentle flowers whose worth is more
Pierce into the bowers
Of the gentle flowers, Which not in solitude
Dwell, but with each other keep society, And with a simple piety
Are ready to be woven into garlands for the good,
Or upon summer earth
To die in virgin worth,
Or to be strewn before the bride, And the bridegroom by her side. Come forth on Sundays, Come forth on Mondays, Come forth on any day!
Worship the God of Nature in your childhood; Worship him at your tasks with best endeavor; Worship him in your sports; worship him ever.
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