THE SWEET SOUTH WIND.

———

BY LYDIA JANE PIERSON.

———

Hark, ’tis the sweet south wind!

How soft its dewy fingers touch the keys

Which thrill such melting music through the mind,

Even the green leaves of the forest trees.

There is a witchery

In the soft music, like the voice of love;

Now gushing o’er the soul deliciously,

Then sighing a rich cadence through the grove.

It seemeth to mine ear

The rustling of some holy creature’s wing,

Sent from some passionless and sinless sphere,

Unction of peace unto the soul to bring.

My temples feel its pow’r,

Cooling and soothing every throbbing vein;

My spirit lifts its weary wings once more,

And bursts the strong clasps of care’s sordid chain,

And floats all calm and free,

Blent with the music of the bending wood,

Fill’d with the light of immortality,

Even the presence of the Living God.

Nature is full of Him,

And every willing spirit feels his pow’r;

Even as this south wind fills the forest dim,

And bends with its rich weight each lowly flow’r.

Oh, may death come to me

On the soft breath of such a night as this;

To lift the thin veil of mortality,

And let me bathe at once in perfect bliss.