Page:Letters of Life.djvu/130

118 sketched in a few simple lines, written during one of our quiet evenings at home:

Loud roars the hoarse storm from the angry North, As though the winter-spirit loath to leave His wonted haunts, came rudely rushing back Fast by the steps of the defenceless spring, To hurl his frost-spear at her shrinking flowers.

Yet while the tempest o'er the charms of May Sweeps dominant, and with discordant tone Wild uproar rules without—peace reigns within. Bright glows the hearthstone, while the taper clear Alternate aids the needle, or illumes The page sublime, inciting the rapt soul To rise above all warring elements.
 * The gentle kitten at my footstool breathes

A song monotonous and full of joy. Close by my side my tender mother sits, Industriously bent; her brow still fair With lingering beams of youth, while he, the sire— The faithful guide, listens indulgently To our discourse, or wakes the tuneful hymn With full, rich voice of manly melody.

Fountain of life and light, to Thee I turn, Father Supreme! from whom our joys descend As streams flow from their source; and unto whom All good on earth shall finally return As to a natural centre—praise is due To Thee, from all thy works—nor least from me, Though in thy scale of being, light and low.