WHAT doest thou here, fair rose, on rocky shore
Opening thy pure and scented breast to blush
In these rude wilds, where, with eternal roar,
Of thundering Winnipeg the waters rush?
Were, at this spot, his foam and fury less,
Could travellers (few, in sooth, and far between)
Still in his stream their onward journey press,
No hand had found thee and no eye had seen.
Nor thou alone — on many a tufted ledge,
Gay floweret, shrub or tree with blossom white,
Stud the dark woods or fringe the water’s edge,
Greeting the curious eye with gladsome sight.
Not here of softer climes the gorgeous boast,
Forests with broad festoons luxuriant hung,
In Yucatan or Guatimala’s coast,
Or brilliant flowers on earth profusely flung;
Yet such as Nature to a northern land,
(Screen’d by its site from many a splendid harm,)
More modest gives, and with more measuring hand,
These are not wanting nor without their charm.
Earliest the tryllium, and the bloody plant
Which seems to wound the gathering hand, are seen;
Pink kalmia gems the swamp; on rocky slant
Thick harebells blow; meek violet decks the green.
The Virgin’s slipper now is made our prize;
Frequent the columbine with drooping head;
Iris; lobelia; bindweed’s tenderest dyes,
Pale pendent lily, or erect and red.
The Queen of Lilies too, whose crown of gold,
Fragrant in milk-white cup imbedded deep,
More curious shows on Solomon’s of old,
On reedy waters slow delights to sleep.
These but a part — for sundry more than these,
E’en in these wilds, a passing pluck invite:
Nor will I labour here, of blossom’d trees
Or lowlier shrubs, a student’s list to write.
Yet thee I name, first blown and farthest found,
Slim mespilus,— thee, rowan, sweet to view;
Cherry of spicy scent and bosom round,
With grape-like clusters graced in season due.
Remnants of Paradise — and thou, fair rose,
Loveliest of all, albeit a simple flower,
Thrown freely here,— how trebly prized by those
Who in you find a Father’s gracious power!
It shames me not — I choose a common theme;
I weave it in no mystic web refined;
My willing thoughts I yield to Nature’s stream;
I mingle in the feelings of mankind.
Call them not mean nor trite, these obvious things:
Say whence it is that, in the lengthen’d course
Of ages, lay like lay re-echoed rings,
Save that its charm has inexhausted force.
The changeful seasons bring their train of thought;
The bloom of spring; the harvest’s golden glow;
The fading year with pensive musings fraught;
With fancies dim, rude storm or driving snow.
Lo! where the sun in glory sinks — or where
The clear cold moon flings on some silent lake,
Or through deep-shadowing pines, her streamers fair —
Such scenes, such pictures, what can trivial make?
Stray through the peaceful fields; roam on and tread
The heath, the mountain-wilds, the rocks: stand still,
And gaze upon the deep; lift up your head,
Trace the starr’d vault of night and take your fill:
O you will feel what men have felt before;
The chords are touch’d, which, in the human breast,
Responsive note still render o’er and o’er;
Nor be they there fastidiously repress’d.
Let them lead on to God — by number, He
By weight by measure all things form’d at first;
By Him the day returns, by Him the sea
Flows and flows back, the flowers and foliage burst.
Rose of the wilderness — an emblem choice
Be thou, the Rose of Sharon to present:
O could this desert as the rose rejoice,
Spread sacred bloom, and breathe immortal scent!
O could the broken tribes, in spots apart
Of these far woods who plant their shifting home,
The Shepherd of their souls receive in heart,
Own his blest voice, and owning cease to roam!
And God be thank’d! the process is begun;
Wide in the soil the seeds of blessing lurk;
Wide will the leavening efficacy run
Through the crude mass, and do its destined work.
See on the margin of the ruddy stream
(So named) where meads in boundless level spread,
Men of mix’d race — (who thence of good would dream?)
The stock once sprung from many a lawless bed:
See now with these in every social tie
And Christian bond,— oh, sight to glad the mind!
Swart children of the woods with lustrous eye
And old Europa’s paler sons combined.
Greek, Jew, Barbarian, Scythian, bond or free,
Unknown in Christ — himself is all in all!
Come on, blest hour, when by a sure decree
Falls the last fragment of dividing wall.
O faithful labour of a little band,
In all these happier fruits how prime your share!
High-favou’d Zion of our parent land
Still stretch, and wider still, thy fostering care.
Thy workmen here for shame have little cause:
Powerful through faith and prevalent in love,
Doubly they give the roving Indian laws,
Guide him for earth, and mould him for above.
They train his docile child with wise control;
The arts of life they teach with patient toil;
And, emblem of their labours for his soul,
Prompt him to build, to graze, to till the soil.
Strong be the structure which their pains upraise,
Believers built on Christ the corner-stone!
Full be their folds, to God’s eternal praise,
Rich be the harvest which their hands have sown!
Yes, stedfast brethren, he whose feeble pen
Has traced these lines, to others now returns
Bound to himself by closer claim, and men
Not few, whose zeal his fervent tribute earns.
There lies his constant task;— yourselves, perchance,
He sees below no more; yet oft to you,
Oft to your charge well-pleased will memory glance,
And all be yours his humble prayer can do.
(George Jehoshaphat Mountain)
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