Bobrov.

O thou unutterable Potentate! Through nature’s vast extent sublimely great! Thy lovely form the flower-decked field discloses, Thy smiles are seen in nature’s sunny face: Milk-coloured lilies and wild-blushing roses Are bright with Thee:—Thy voice of gentleness Speaks in the light-winged whispering zephyrs playing Midst the young boughs, or o’er the meadows straying: Thy breath gives life to all; below, above, And all things revel in Thy light and love. But here, on these gigantic mountains, here Thy greatness, glory, wisdom, strength and spirit, In terrible sublimity appear; Thy awe-imposing voice is heard,—we hear it! Th’ Almighty’s fearful voice; attend, it breaks The silence, and in solemn warnings speaks: His the light tones that whisper midst the trees; His, his the whistling of the busy breeze; His, the storm-thunder roaring, rattling round⁠[1]⁠, When element with element makes war Amidst the echoing mountains: on whose bound, Whose highest bound he drives his fiery car Glowing like molten-iron; or enshrin’d In robes of darkness, riding on the wind Across the clouded vault of heaven:—What eye Has not been dazzled by Thy majesty? Where is the ear that has not heard Thee speak? Thou breathest!—forest-oaks of centuries Turn their uprooted trunks towards the skies. Thou thunderest!—adamantine mountains break, Tremble, and totter, and apart are riven; Thou lightenest! and the rocks inflame; Thy power Of fire to their metallic bosom driven, Melts and devours them;—Lo! they are no more:— They pass away like wax in the fierce flame, Or the thick mists that frown upon the sun, Which he but glances at and they are gone; Or like the sparkling snow upon the hill, When noon-tide darts its penetrating beam. What do I say? At God’s almighty will, The affrighted world falls headlong from its sphere, Planets and suns and systems disappear! But Thy eternal throne—Thy palace bright, Zion—stands steadfast in unchanging might; Zion—Thy own peculiar seat—Thy home! But here, O God! here is Thy temple too: Heaven’s sapphire arch is its resplendent dome; Its columns—trees that have for ages stood; Its incense is the flower-perfumed dew; Its symphony—the music of the wood; Its ornaments—the fairest gems of spring; Its altar is the stony mountain proud! Lord! from this shrine to Thy abode I bring Trembling, devotion’s tribute—though not loud. Nor pomp-accompanied: Thy praise I sing, And Thou wilt deign to hear the lowly offering.

Thou wondrous brother of the prophet, sun! So brightly on Medina’s temple burning; And scarce less beautiful the crescent moon, When moving gently o’er the shadows dun Of evening:—and their verge to silver turning. O what a lovely, soft tranquillity Rests on the earth and breathes along the sea! Here is no cedar bent with misery; No holy cypress sighs or weeps, as seen In other lands, where his dark branches green Mourn in the desert o’er neglected graves: Here his all-sheltering boughs he calmly waves In the dim light, the sacred vigils keeping O’er the blest ashes on earth’s bosom sleeping. Picture of God! upon the prophet’s shrine Shine brightly—brightly, beautifully shine Upon those holy fields where once he trod, And flowers sprung up beneath his innocent feet, Tulips and aloes and narcissus’ sweet, A lovely carpet for the child of God! There have our privileged, pilgrim footsteps been, This have we seen—yes, brother! this have seen: The grave, the life, the ashes, and the dome Eternal and the heavens: and there have bought The grace of God and found the joy we sought, A certain entrance to our final home. And now, be short our houseward way! Our fathers’ habitations now appear! O with what transports shall we hear them say, With what loud greetings, “Welcome, welcome here!” The swelling-bosom’d wife, the black-hair’d son And black-eyed daughter greet our joyous train, Rushing from our own doors they hither run, And songs of rapture loudly hail us then. Their trembling hands the fragrant aloe bear, Which joyful o’er our wearied limbs they throw; Home of our fathers! now appear, Our houseward path be shortened now!

’Tis Allah governs this terrestrial ball, To all gives laws, as he gave life to all! He rules the unnumbered circles bright with bliss, That from the ends of heaven send forth their beams: He rules the space, the infinite abyss, The undefined and wandering ether-streams, Where thousand, thousand stars and planets play— What are the laws that guide them on their way? They are no perishable records—laws Written with pen and ink:—No! Allah spreads The golden roll of nature: o’er our heads Opens his glorious volume, and withdraws The veil of ignorance: read the letters there, That is the blazing, burning record, where The letters are not idle lines, but things: Read there the name of Allah, dazzling bright, In works of eloquence and words of light! Shut, shut all other books; and if thy soul, Borne upward on devotion’s angel-wings, Soar to the heaven, from earth and earth’s control, Thou shalt perceive—shalt know the Deity. His splendours then shall burst upon thy eye, An effluence of noon-tide round thee roll, Thy spirit glad with light and love;—a sun Of pure philosophy to lead thee on.

The golden palace of my God Tow’ring above the clouds I see: Beyond the cherubs’ bright abode, Higher than angels’ thoughts can be: How can I in those courts appear Without a wedding garment on? Conduct me, Thou life-giver, there, Conduct me to Thy glorious throne! And clothe me with Thy robes of light, And lead me through sin’s darksome night, My Saviour and my God!

Vskuiu mia esi oostavil? Why hast thou forsaken me?

Why, thou never-setting light, Is Thy brightness veiled from me? Why does this unusual night Cloud Thy blest benignity? I am lost without Thy ray, Guide my wandering footsteps, Lord! Light my dark and erring way To the noon-tide of Thy word!

See the glorious cherubim Thronging round the Eternal’s throne; Hark! they sing their holy hymn: To the unknown Three in One. ‘All-supporting Deity— ‘Living spirit—praise to Thee!’ Rest, ye worldly tumults, rest! Here let all be peace and joy: Grief no more shall rend our breast, Tears no more shall dew our eye. Heaven-directed spirits rise To the temple of the skies! Join the ranks of angels bright, Near th’ Eternal’s dazzling light. Khvalim Boga⁠[2]⁠.

Not the first tribute of our lyre, Not the first fruits of infant spring, But flames from love’s long kindled fire, And oft-repeated prayers we bring To crown thy natal day. ’Tis not to-day that first we tell (When was affection’s spirit mute?) How long our hearts have loved—how well— Nor tune our soft and votive flute, Nor light the altar’s ray. That altar is our household shrine— Its flame—the bosom’s kindly heat: Its offering, sympathy divine; Its incense, as the may-dew sweet! Accept thy children’s lay.

O son of nature! let self-culture be The object of thy earliest toils: as yet Thy lamp burns bright—thy day shines gloriously— Thou canst not labour when thy sun is set!

Wouldst thou The Unseen Spirit see: First learn to know thyself; and He Will then be shadowed forth in thee!

God is a spirit through creation’s whole, As in this mortal tenement—the soul.

The sun that gives the world its fairest light Is not yon orb welcomed by the morning hour, And by the eve expelled;—it is the power Of an enlightening conscience pure and bright.

Mark where thou standest first; and whence thou art come, And whither goest, and straight speed thee home.

The woe to come, the woe that’s gone, Philosophy thinks calmly on: But show me the philosopher Who calmly bears the woes that are.

How wise is he who marks the fleeting day By acts of virtue as it rolls away!

Be all thy views right forward, clear, and even: The straightest line the soonest leads to heaven.

Thou wouldst count all things, proud philosophy; Now measure space and weigh eternity!

Light first thy heart with virtue; then thy soul With wisdom—purest joy shall o’er thee roll.

The most perverted spirit has greatness in it, The very savage bears a heart that’s noble.

Virtue, though loveliest of all lovely things, From modesty apart no more is fair; And when her graceful veil aside she flings, (Like ether opened to th’ intrusive air) Loses her sweetest charms and stands a cypher there.