FROM AN UNFINISHED POEM.°
'Tis noon. At noon the Hebrew bowed the kneeAnd worshipped, while the husbandmen withdrewFrom the scorched field, and the wayfaring manGrew faint, and turned aside by bubbling fount,Or rested in the shadow of the palm.
I, too, amid the overflow of day,Behold the power which wields and cherishesThe frame of Nature. From this brow of rockThat overlooks the Hudson's western marge,I gaze upon the long array of groves,The piles and gulfs of verdure drinking inThe grateful heats. They love the fiery sun;Their broadening leaves grow glossier, and their spraysClimb as he looks upon them. In the midst,The swelling river, into his green gulfs,Unshadowed save by passing sails above,Takes the redundant glory, and enjoysThe summer in his chilly bed. Coy flowers,That would not open in the early light,Push back their plaited sheaths. The rivulet's pool,That darkly quivered all the morning longIn the cool shade, now glimmers in the sun;And o'er its surface shoots, and shoots again,The glittering dragon-fly, and deep withinRun the brown water-beetles to and fro.
A silence, the brief sabbath of an hour,Reigns o'er the fields; the laborer sits withinHis dwelling; he has left his steers awhile,Unyoked, to bite the herbage, and his dogSleeps stretched beside the door-stone in the shade.Now the grey marmot, with uplifted paws,No more sits listening by his den, but stealsAbroad, in safety, to the clover field,And crops its juicy blossoms. All the whileA ceaseless murmur from the populous townSwells o'er these solitudes: a mingled soundOf jarring wheels, and iron hoofs that clashUpon the stony ways, and hammer-clang,And creak of engines lifting ponderous bulks,And calls and cries, and tread of eager feet,Innumerable, hurrying to and fro.Noon, in that mighty mart of nations, bringsNo pause to toil and care. With early dayBegan the tumult, and shall only ceaseWhen midnight, hushing one by one the soundsOf bustle, gathers the tired brood to rest.
Thus, in this feverish time, when love of gainAnd luxury possess the hearts of men,Thus is it with the noon of human life.We, in our fervid manhood, in our strengthOf reason, we, with hurry, noise, and care,Plan, toil, and strife, and pause not to refreshOur spirits with the calm and beautifulOf God's harmonious universe, that wonOur youthful wonder; pause not to inquireWhy we are here; and what the reverenceMan owes to man, and what the mysteryThat links us to the greater world, besideWhose borders we but hover for a space.