THE SKY.

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BY MRS. J. W. MERCUR.

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The sky, the ever-changing sky,

How broadly spans that arch on high!

How calmly in the morning’s light

Blends its rich hues so purely bright,

And lit by golden sunbeams now

In glory bends its azure brow.

The sky, the sky, serenely bright,

No cloud sits on thy bosom’s light,

No fleecy folds beneath the eye

Of the sun’s light are glancing by,

Nor gath’ring clouds of misty spray

Play round the sun’s imperial way.

And with a look of light and love

That azure sea bends far above,

Its glories to the day unfurled

Are resting o’er our circling world,

And lit by many a brilliant star

At night that archway beams afar.

And on its breast so pure and high

The burning paths of planets lie,

Planets which ’neath its folds had birth

When worlds on worlds first smiled o’er earth,

And northern-lights and comets play,

And meteors gleam, then die away.

And oft that bending sky doth wear

A look of deep and troubled care.

When sunbeams by deep clouds are hid,

The gath’ring tempests frowning lid,

And thunders burst, and lightnings play,

And storms sweep o’er the trav’lers way.

And on the broad and rolling deep

Each mariner doth turn and keep

An anxious vigil of the sky,

When threat’ning clouds and storms are nigh,

And tempests round them fierce are driven,

Or rainbows span the arch of heaven.

The sky, the sky, now clear, now bright,

Now wreathed with folds of snowy white,

Now tinged with amber hues, whose glow

Is borrowed from the sunbeams flow,

Then on its ever-changing breast

Beam roseate streakings in the west.

And oft upon the sky I gaze

As in my childhood’s early days,

And watch at every morn and night

Its fading or increasing light,

And trace with love each cloud and star,

Which floats above, or beams afar.

The sky, the sky, it bendeth o’er

The weary exile, who no more

Can greet his home, or feel the breeze

Play through his native forest trees,

Or watch upon his home’s clear stream

The moon’s pale rays reflected beam.

And the bright sky o’er all that’s here

Unto the exile’s heart is dear;

In it he sees each beaming star

Which shone above his home afar,

And knows a power of deathless love

Spread out that azure sea above.

And over all things here below

It bendeth with a radiant glow;

On peasant’s cot—on lordly hall—

Alike its sun and shadows fall,

And gems which gild its brow at even

Shine forth for all beneath the heaven.

And from its firm unwav’ring height,

Its never-failing day and night,

The fadeless glory of its sun—

Its tireless stars, when day is done,

May all, as tow’rd that sky they turn,

A lesson of deep import learn.