Page:Poetical works of William Cullen Bryant (IA poeticalworksof00brya).pdf/38

6 And trode his brethren down, and felt no awe Of Him who will avenge them. Stainless worth, Such as the sternest age of virtue saw, Ripens, meanwhile, till time shall call it forth From the low modest shade, to light and bless the earth.

Has Nature, in her calm, majestic march, Faltered with age at last? does the bright sun Crow dim in heaven? or, in their far blue arch, Sparkle the crowd of stars, when day is done, Less brightly when the dew-lipped Spring comes on, Breathes she with airs less soft, or scents the sky With flowers less fair than when her reign begun? Does prodigal Autumn, to our age, deny The plenty that once swelled beneath his sober eye?

Look on this beautiful world, and read the truth In her fair page; see, every season brings New change, to her, of everlasting youth; Still the green soil, with joyous living things, Swarms, the wide air is full of joyous wings, And myriads, still, are happy in the sleep Of ocean's azure gulfs, and where he flings The restless surge. Eternal love doth keep, In his complacent arms, the carth, the air, the deep.

Will then the merciful One, who stamped our race With his own image, and who gave them sway O'er earth, and the glad dwellers on her face, Now that our swarming nations far away