INSPIRATION.
Inspiration! oh whence comes it? Whence its power? ah! who can tell?As it sweeps the spirits’ harp-strings, with its wondrous magic spell!Wafted to us in the breezes, as they fan our cheek and brow;Speaking to us in the tempest, ’gainst whose might the forests bow!Whispering to us from the dew-drops, and the gentle summer showers,Rushing o’er us, with a mighty overwhelming power,As with awe and adoration, stand we silent by the sea,While the roaring, surging billows, tell us of Infinity.Coming to us from the sand upon the shore,From the proud majestic mountain reaching upward evermore;Till the heavens seem to greet them, with a fond and loving kiss.Oh! the wondrous inspiration, that comes from a scene like this.How we feel the mighty Presence, as upon the mount we stand!Gazing outward in the distance, over sea, and over land;Or beneath, into the valley; where the fleecy cloudlets lie,Until, like a lake of silver, seems the valley, from on high.On these glorious cloud-pictures, how we gaze in silent awe;—While our spirits, soaring heavenward, from them inspiration draw.Thus, unto us, nature ever, speaks in tones so loud and clear,That, whoever will but listen, her sweet cadences shall hear.But ’tis not alone from nature, that the soul this power derives;The sublimest inspiration, comes to us from human lives.From the heroes who have struggled ’gainst temptation’s mighty power;Battling with the wrong and evil, day by day, and hour by hour;Till at length they stand victorious over each besetting sin;Giving proof in daily living, of the purity within.How such glorious lives inspire us, even though their lips are mute.Just as sometimes o’er the spirit, does the whispering of the lute,Sweep with power, by far more potent than can come from organ’s swell;E’en as from the little brooklet, running through the mossy dell,We have drawn an inspiration, greater, than when on the shoreOf old ocean, we stood listening to its ceaseless surge and roar.Ah! not always will the eloquence of language tell,There’s an eloquence in silence—we are taught to know as well.Inspiration! ’tis around us, and above us, in the very air we breathe,When the Infinite Creator gave us life, he did bequeathPower to gather this rich treasure from the beautiful and pure.Drink, then, ever at this fountain; ’tis unfailing and secure;Fixed as Heaven’s eternal law,From it every one may draw.
Inspiration! oh whence comes it? Whence its power? ah! who can tell?As it sweeps the spirits’ harp-strings, with its wondrous magic spell!Wafted to us in the breezes, as they fan our cheek and brow;Speaking to us in the tempest, ’gainst whose might the forests bow!Whispering to us from the dew-drops, and the gentle summer showers,Rushing o’er us, with a mighty overwhelming power,As with awe and adoration, stand we silent by the sea,While the roaring, surging billows, tell us of Infinity.Coming to us from the sand upon the shore,From the proud majestic mountain reaching upward evermore;Till the heavens seem to greet them, with a fond and loving kiss.Oh! the wondrous inspiration, that comes from a scene like this.How we feel the mighty Presence, as upon the mount we stand!Gazing outward in the distance, over sea, and over land;Or beneath, into the valley; where the fleecy cloudlets lie,Until, like a lake of silver, seems the valley, from on high.On these glorious cloud-pictures, how we gaze in silent awe;—While our spirits, soaring heavenward, from them inspiration draw.Thus, unto us, nature ever, speaks in tones so loud and clear,That, whoever will but listen, her sweet cadences shall hear.But ’tis not alone from nature, that the soul this power derives;The sublimest inspiration, comes to us from human lives.From the heroes who have struggled ’gainst temptation’s mighty power;Battling with the wrong and evil, day by day, and hour by hour;Till at length they stand victorious over each besetting sin;Giving proof in daily living, of the purity within.How such glorious lives inspire us, even though their lips are mute.Just as sometimes o’er the spirit, does the whispering of the lute,Sweep with power, by far more potent than can come from organ’s swell;E’en as from the little brooklet, running through the mossy dell,We have drawn an inspiration, greater, than when on the shoreOf old ocean, we stood listening to its ceaseless surge and roar.Ah! not always will the eloquence of language tell,There’s an eloquence in silence—we are taught to know as well.Inspiration! ’tis around us, and above us, in the very air we breathe,When the Infinite Creator gave us life, he did bequeathPower to gather this rich treasure from the beautiful and pure.Drink, then, ever at this fountain; ’tis unfailing and secure;Fixed as Heaven’s eternal law,From it every one may draw.
Inspiration! oh whence comes it? Whence its power? ah! who can tell?As it sweeps the spirits’ harp-strings, with its wondrous magic spell!Wafted to us in the breezes, as they fan our cheek and brow;Speaking to us in the tempest, ’gainst whose might the forests bow!Whispering to us from the dew-drops, and the gentle summer showers,Rushing o’er us, with a mighty overwhelming power,As with awe and adoration, stand we silent by the sea,While the roaring, surging billows, tell us of Infinity.Coming to us from the sand upon the shore,From the proud majestic mountain reaching upward evermore;Till the heavens seem to greet them, with a fond and loving kiss.Oh! the wondrous inspiration, that comes from a scene like this.How we feel the mighty Presence, as upon the mount we stand!Gazing outward in the distance, over sea, and over land;Or beneath, into the valley; where the fleecy cloudlets lie,Until, like a lake of silver, seems the valley, from on high.On these glorious cloud-pictures, how we gaze in silent awe;—While our spirits, soaring heavenward, from them inspiration draw.Thus, unto us, nature ever, speaks in tones so loud and clear,That, whoever will but listen, her sweet cadences shall hear.But ’tis not alone from nature, that the soul this power derives;The sublimest inspiration, comes to us from human lives.From the heroes who have struggled ’gainst temptation’s mighty power;Battling with the wrong and evil, day by day, and hour by hour;Till at length they stand victorious over each besetting sin;Giving proof in daily living, of the purity within.How such glorious lives inspire us, even though their lips are mute.Just as sometimes o’er the spirit, does the whispering of the lute,Sweep with power, by far more potent than can come from organ’s swell;E’en as from the little brooklet, running through the mossy dell,We have drawn an inspiration, greater, than when on the shore
Inspiration! oh whence comes it? Whence its power? ah! who can tell?
As it sweeps the spirits’ harp-strings, with its wondrous magic spell!
Wafted to us in the breezes, as they fan our cheek and brow;
Speaking to us in the tempest, ’gainst whose might the forests bow!
Whispering to us from the dew-drops, and the gentle summer showers,
Rushing o’er us, with a mighty overwhelming power,
As with awe and adoration, stand we silent by the sea,
While the roaring, surging billows, tell us of Infinity.
Coming to us from the sand upon the shore,
From the proud majestic mountain reaching upward evermore;
Till the heavens seem to greet them, with a fond and loving kiss.
Oh! the wondrous inspiration, that comes from a scene like this.
How we feel the mighty Presence, as upon the mount we stand!
Gazing outward in the distance, over sea, and over land;
Or beneath, into the valley; where the fleecy cloudlets lie,
Until, like a lake of silver, seems the valley, from on high.
On these glorious cloud-pictures, how we gaze in silent awe;—
While our spirits, soaring heavenward, from them inspiration draw.
Thus, unto us, nature ever, speaks in tones so loud and clear,
That, whoever will but listen, her sweet cadences shall hear.
But ’tis not alone from nature, that the soul this power derives;
The sublimest inspiration, comes to us from human lives.
From the heroes who have struggled ’gainst temptation’s mighty power;
Battling with the wrong and evil, day by day, and hour by hour;
Till at length they stand victorious over each besetting sin;
Giving proof in daily living, of the purity within.
How such glorious lives inspire us, even though their lips are mute.
Just as sometimes o’er the spirit, does the whispering of the lute,
Sweep with power, by far more potent than can come from organ’s swell;
E’en as from the little brooklet, running through the mossy dell,
We have drawn an inspiration, greater, than when on the shore
Of old ocean, we stood listening to its ceaseless surge and roar.Ah! not always will the eloquence of language tell,There’s an eloquence in silence—we are taught to know as well.Inspiration! ’tis around us, and above us, in the very air we breathe,When the Infinite Creator gave us life, he did bequeathPower to gather this rich treasure from the beautiful and pure.Drink, then, ever at this fountain; ’tis unfailing and secure;Fixed as Heaven’s eternal law,From it every one may draw.
Of old ocean, we stood listening to its ceaseless surge and roar.
Ah! not always will the eloquence of language tell,
There’s an eloquence in silence—we are taught to know as well.
Inspiration! ’tis around us, and above us, in the very air we breathe,
When the Infinite Creator gave us life, he did bequeath
Power to gather this rich treasure from the beautiful and pure.
Drink, then, ever at this fountain; ’tis unfailing and secure;
Fixed as Heaven’s eternal law,
From it every one may draw.