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The mighty Rain Holds the vast empire of the sky alone.

William C. Bryant

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William C. Bryant
Rain
Alone
Empire
Mighty
Empires
Holds
Vast
Sky

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There is a day of sunny rest For every dark and troubled night And grief may hide an evening guest, But joy shall come with early light.
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The groves were God's first temple. Ere man learned To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, And spread the roof above them,--ere he framed The lofty vault, to gather and roll back The sound of anthems in the darkling wood, Amidst the cool and silence, he knelt down And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks And supplication.
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All great poets have been men of great knowledge.
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Thou blossom bright with autumn dew, And colored with the heaven's own blue.
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Stand here by my side and turn, I pray, On the lake below thy gentle eyes The clouds hang over it, heavy and gray, And dark and silent the water lies And out of that frozen mist the snow In wavering flakes begins to flow Flake after flake, They sink in the dark and silent lake.
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Remorse is virtue's root its fair increase is fruits of innocence and blessedness.
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The little wind-flower, whose just opened eye Is blue as the spring heaven it gazes at.
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Here the free spirit of mankind, at length, Throws its last fetters off and who shall place A limit to the giant's unchained strength, Or curb his swiftness in the forward race?
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Difficulty is the nurse of greatness.
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But Winter has yet brighter scenes-he boasts Splendors beyond what gorgeous Summer knows Or Autumn with his many fruits, and woods All flushed with many hues.
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On rolls the stream with a perpetual sigh The rocks moan wildly as it passes by Hyssop and wormwood border all the strand, And not a flower adorns the dreary land.
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Ah! never shall the land forget.
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And the blue gentian-flower, that, in the breeze, Nods lonely, of her beauteous race the last.
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Yet will that beauteous image make The dreary sea less drear And thy remembered smile will wake The hope that tramples fear
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Autumn, the year's last, loveliest smile.
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Truth crushed to earth shall rise again,- The eternal years of God are hers But Error, wounded, writhes with pain, And dies among his worshippers.
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The fiercest agonies have shortest reign And after dreams of horror, comes again The welcome morning with its rays of peace.
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All things that are on earth shall wholly pass away, Except the love of God, which shall live and last for aye.
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The stormy March has come at last, With winds and clouds and changing skies I hear the rushing of the blast That through the snowy valley flies.
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All that tread, the globe are but a handful to the tribes, that slumber in its bosom.
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