Vermont Watchman And State Journal

POETRY.
FOREST WORSHIP
BY EBEN. ELLIOT, THE CORN-LAW POET OF ENGLAND.

Where struts the sunlit forest
Our roof of bright blue sky.
Where fountains flow and wild flowers blow,
We lift our hearts on high;
Beneath the frown of wicked men,
Our country's strength is bowing,
But thanks to God! they can't prevent
The lone wild flower from blowing.

Hark, high above the tree tops,
The lark is soaring free;
Where streams the light thro' broken clouds,
His speckled breast I see.
Beneath the might of wicked men,
The poor man's worth is dying;
But thanked be God in spite of them,
The lark still warbles, flying.

The preacher prays—'Lord bless us!'
'Lord bless us!' echo cries;
'Amen!' the breezes murmur low,
Amen! the rill replies:
The ceaseless toil of wo-worn hearts,
The proud with pangs are paying;
But here—O! God of earth and heaven,
The humble heart is praying!

How softly, in the pauses
Of song, re-echoed wide,
The cushat's coo—the linnet's lay,
O'er rill and river glide!
With deeds of evil men,
The affrighted land is ringing;
But still, O Lord, the pious heart
And soul-toned voice is singing.

Hush! hush!—the preacher preacheth,
Wo to the oppressor, wo!'
But sudden gloom o'ercast the sun,
And saddened flowers below.
So frowns the Lord! but, tyrants, ye
Deride his indignation;
And see not, in his gather'd brow,
Your day of tribulation.

Speak low, thou heaven-paid teacher!
The tempest bursts above;
God whispers in the thunder—hear
The terrors of his love!
On useful hands, and honest hearts,
The base their wrath are wreaking;
But thank'd be God! they can't prevent
The storm of heaven from speaking.