STANZAS.

———

BY E. CLEMENTINE STEDHAM.

———

“My harp also is turned to mourning.—Where is God my Maker, who giveth songs in the night?”

The flush of young Hope, and the smile have departed,

That tinted my cheek—that enlivened my brow;

In sackcloth I sit, with the desolate-hearted,

And hushed is the song of my mirthfulness now.

All Nature rejoiceth to welcome gay Summer:

The out-going morn “walks in beauty” more bright;

And the streamlet replenished, forgetting its murmur,

Is dancing along in the gush of delight.

All, all save my heart, beats responsive to Nature!

In vain do I hear the sweet warbling of birds,

In vain the rejoicing of each living creature—

The bleat of the lambs, or the low of the herds;

My spirit returneth no echo of gladness;

“The harp of the heart,” by affliction unstrung,

Can only reply in the numbers of sadness,

Or, silent with grief, on the willows is hung.

Great Parent of Nature! if to the bleak mountains,

The light of thy smile bringeth verdure again;

Doth gladden the desert with palm trees and fountains,

And scatter new beauties o’er valley and plain;

If the wealth of thy bounty, in showers descending,

Can make “the waste-places” bloom fresh as the rose;

And thy rainbow of promise, in loveliness bending

Upon the dark cloud, hush the storms to repose;

Oh! cannot the light of thy favor awaken

The well-springs of joy in a desolate heart,

And clothe with new verdure the bosom forsaken

Of all that could pleasure or solace impart?

And hast thou not showers for the spirit’s refreshing,

And songs in the night-time of sorrow to give?

Then open thy windows and pour down a blessing—

O smile! and this wilderness heart shall revive.

Cedar Brook, Plainfield, N. J.