Classic Poem

Sweet , silent, solitary place,
Where I majestic footsteps trace,
Where Reason may ascend her throne,
And Meditation reign alone,
Contemplate the works of Nature,
And in the works, the Great Creator !
See the sweet songsters of the day,
And hear them tune their artless lay;
Behold at once the fragrant fields,
Which vivid green and pasture yields;
The flowing river gently glide,
Before, behind, on either side.
Four pond'rous hills stupendous rise,
As if to teach my heart and eyes
To send their wishes to the skies:
Thither my thoughts and eyes ascend,
Wonders still more wond'rous blend:
A vast expanse of azure sky,
Boundless it's width, it's height how high!
Yet higher still, immensely higher,
Behold yon' orient blaze of fire,
The radiant region of the day,
With matchless majesty display,
More of the great, unfathom'd all,
Than doth the whole terrestrial ball.
My eyes recoil, the rays so bright,
Tho' short the gaze, dissolve my sight:
If such thy power, great work divine,
How mighty HIS who bade thee shine!

Ah! what am I? Why, less than nought,
Below the merit of a thought.
Yet thought which doth all thought transcend;
That mighty ALL may be my friend!

Now to the salutary Well
I bend my steps—and hear it tell
Important truths! My heart applies
The admonition as it flies:
'Tis true—How fast the stream is flowing:
Ah me! so fast my life is going.
As is the stream still downwards bending,
So to the grave my steps are tending.
This head that thinks—these eyes that see,
In some short time must cease to be.
This well shall flow,—those hills shall rise,
That azure deck yon' splendid skies,
Those verdant meads be cloath'd in green,
That river gently glide between,
And yon' bright orb perform his round,
When not a dust of me is found.

But here I pause, and heave a sigh,
While the full tear drops from mine eye.
How big with awe! This solemn theme,
No fancy'd tale, or idle dream.
Not, that I am—is truth more just,
Than—that I shall return to dust.
Another year, perhaps a day
May join me to my mother clay.
See the fatal mandate come,
Is important business done?
Most weful thought—Is it begun?

But thoughts more fair full arise,
As to the well I cit mine eyes;
For in the flowing the stream, I see
An emblem of Eternity.
This stream has flow'd, and still it slows,
(And yet no diminution knows,)
From year to year, from race to race,
And still behold we no decrease:
Such that tremendous, vast expanse,
To which, each moment, I advance;
When twice ten thousand years are past,
And more than numbers e'er can cast,
Eternity! that wond'rous thing.
Will at that period begin!
And Oh! my soul! where shalt thou be,
Thro' this immense eternity?