HYMNS FOR CHILDHOOD.

[We are quite aware that the Hymns for Childhood were written at a much earlier period than that which we have here chronologically assigned them. They had been sent to Professor Norton for the use of his children, and were printed under his auspices at Boston, New England, so early as 1827. Not, however, having had an opportunity of seeing the original American edition, we are in the dark as to whether the hymns in it were the same in number as those published in Dublin under the eye of the author, or whether she afterwards revised and altered them. It has been therefore judged best to place them here in the order of publication, and as they appeared in this country under the supervision of Mrs Hemans herself. The hymns (as they deserved to be) were very favourably received by the public, and it is only to be regretted that Mrs Hemans did not from time to time add to their number. She thus wrote to Mrs Lawrence with a presentation copy of her little book:—“I send you the fairy volume of hymns. You will immediately see how unpretending a little book it is; but it will give you pleasure to know that it has been received in the most gratifying manner, having seemed (as a playful child might have done) to win criticism into a benignant smile.”—Vide Letter to Mrs Lawrence, Recollections, p. 354.]

INTRODUCTORY VERSES.

Oh! blest art thou whose steps may rove
Through the green paths of vale and grove,
Or, leaving all their charms below,
Climb the wild mountain’s airy brow;
And gaze afar o’er cultured plains,
And cities with their stately fanes,
And forests, that beneath thee lie,
And ocean mingling with the sky.
For man can show thee naught so fair
As Nature’s varied marvels there;
And if thy pure and artless breast
Can feel their grandeur, thou art blest!
For thee the stream in beauty flows,
For thee the gale of summer blows;
And, in deep glen and wood-walk free,
Voices of joy still breathe for thee.
But happier far, if then thy soul
Can soar to Him who made the whole.
If to thine eye the simplest flower
Portray His bounty and His power!
If, in whate’er is bright or grand,
Thy mind can trace His viewless hand;
If Nature’s music bid thee raise
Thy song of gratitude and praise;
If heaven and earth, with beauty fraught,
Lead to His throne thy raptured thought;
If there thou lovest His love to read—
Then, wanderer! thou art blest indeed.

THE RAINBOW.

“I do set my bow in the cloud, and it shall be for a token of a covenant between me and the earth.”—Genesis, ix. 13.

Soft falls the mild, reviving shower
From April’s changeful skies,
And rain-drops bend each trembling flower
They tinge with richer dyes.
Soon shall their genial influence call
A thousand buds to day,
Which, waiting but that balmy fall,
In hidden beauty lay.
E’en now full many a blossom’s bell
With fragrance fills the shade;
And verdure clothes each grassy dell,
In brighter tints array’d.
But mark! what arch of varied hue
From heaven to earth is bow’d?
Haste, ere it vanish!—haste to view
The rainbow in the cloud!
How bright its glory! there behold
The emerald’s verdant rays,
The topaz blends its hue of gold
With the deep ruby’s blaze.
Yet not alone to charm thy sight
Was given the vision fair—
Gaze on that arch of colour’d light,
And read God’s mercy there.
It tells us that the mighty deep,
Fast by the Eternal chain’d,
No more o’er earth’s domain shall sweep,
Awful and unrestrain’d.
It tells that seasons, heat and cold,
Fix’d by his sovereign will,
Shall, in their course, bid man behold
Seed-time and harvest still;
That still the flower shall deck the field,
When vernal zephyrs blow,
That still the vine its fruit shall yield,
When autumn sunbeams glow.
Then, child of that fair earth! which yet
Smiles with each charm endow’d,
Bless thou His name, whose mercy set
The rainbow in the cloud!

THE SUN.

The Sun comes forth: each mountain-height
Glows with a tinge of rosy light,
And flowers that slumber’d through the night
Their dewy leaves unfold;
A flood of splendour bursts on high,
And ocean’s breast gives back a sky
All steep’d in molten gold.
Oh! thou art glorious, orb of day!
Exulting nations hail thy ray,
Creation swells a choral lay
To welcome thy return;
From thee all nature draws her hues,
Thy beams the insect’s wing suffuse,
And in the diamond burn.
Yet must thou fade! When earth and heaven
By fire and tempest shall be riven,
Thou, from thy sphere of radiance driven,
O Sun! must fall at last;
Another heaven, another earth,
New power, new glory shall have birth,
When all we see is past.
But He who gave the word of might,
“Let there be light,”—and there was light,
Who bade thee chase the gloom of night,
And beam the world to bless;
For ever bright, for ever pure,
Alone unchanging shall endure,
The Sun of Righteousness!

THE RIVERS.

Go! trace th’ unnumber’d streams, o’er earth
That wind their devious course,
That draw from Alpine heights their birth,
Deep vale, or cavern-source.
Some by majestic cities glide,
Proud scenes of man’s renown;
Some lead their solitary tide
Where pathless forests frown.
Some calmly roll o’er golden sands,
Where Afric’s deserts lie;
Or spread, to clothe rejoicing lands
With rich fertility.
These bear the bark, whose stately sail
Exulting seems to swell;
While these, scarce rippled by a gale,
Sleep in the lonely dell.
Yet on, alike, though swift or slow
Their various waves may sweep,
Through cities or through shades, they flow
To the same boundless deep.
Oh! thus, whate’er our path of life,
Through sunshine or through gloom,
Through scenes of quiet or of strife,
Its end is still the tomb.
The chief whose mighty deeds we hail,
The monarch throned on high,
The peasant in his native vale—
All journey on to die!
But if Thy guardian care, my God!
The pilgrim’s course attend,
I will not fear the dark abode
To which my footsteps bend.
For thence thine all-redeeming Son,
Who died the world to save,
In light, in triumph, rose, and won
The victory from the grave!

THE STARS.

“The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament showeth his handy-work.”—Psalm xix. 1.

No cloud obscures the summer sky,
The moon in brightness walks on high;
And, set in azure, every star
Shines, a pure gem of heaven, afar!
Child of the earth! oh, lift thy glance
To yon bright firmament’s expanse;
The glories of its realm explore,
And gaze, and wonder, and adore!
Doth it not speak to every sense
The marvels of Omnipotence?
Seest thou not there the Almighty name
Inscribed in characters of flame?
Count o’er these lamps of quenchless light,
That sparkle through the shades of night:
Behold them! can a mortal boast
To number that celestial host?
Mark well each little star, whose rays
In distant splendour meet thy gaze:
Each is a world, by Him sustain’d
Who from eternity hath reign’d.
Each, kindled not for earth alone,
Hath circling planets of its own,
And beings, whose existence springs
From Him, the all-powerful King of kings.
Haply, those glorious beings know
No stain of guilt, or tear of woe;
But, raising still the adoring voice,
For ever in their God rejoice.
What then art thou, O child of clay!
Amid creation’s grandeur, say?
E’en as an insect on the breeze,
E’en as a dew-drop, lost in seas!
Yet fear thou not! The sovereign hand
Which spread the ocean and the land,
And hung the rolling spheres in air,
Hath, e’en for thee, a Father’s care!
Be thou at peace! The all-seeing Eye,
Pervading earth, and air, and sky—
The searching glance which none may flee,
Is still in mercy turn’d on thee.

THE OCEAN.

“They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters; these see the works of the Lord, and his wonders in the deep.”—Psalm cvii. 23, 24.

He that in venturous barks hath been
A wanderer on the deep,
Can tell of many an awful scene,
Where storms for ever sweep.
For many a fair, majestic sight
Hath met his wandering eye,
Beneath the streaming northern light,
Or blaze of Indian sky.
Go! ask him of the whirlpool’s roar,
Whose echoing thunder peals
Loud, as if rush’d along the shore
An army’s chariot-wheels;
Of icebergs, floating o’er the main,
Or fix’d upon the coast,
Like glittering citadel or fane,
Mid the bright realms of frost;
Of coral rocks from waves below
In steep ascent that tower,
And, fraught with peril, daily grow,
Form’d by an insect’s power;
Of sea-fires, which at dead of night
Shine o’er the tides afar,
And make the expanse of ocean bright,
As heaven with many a star.
O God! thy name they well may praise
Who to the deep go down,
And trace the wonders of thy ways
Where rocks and billows frown!
If glorious be that awful deep
No human power can bind,
What then art Thou, who bid’st it keep
Within its bounds confined!
Let heaven and earth in praise unite!
Eternal praise to Thee,
Whose word can rouse the tempest’s might,
Or still the raging sea!

THE THUNDER-STORM.

Deep, fiery clouds o’ercast the sky,
Dead stillness reigns in air;
There is not e’en a breeze, on high
The gossamer to bear.
The woods are hush’d, the waves at rest,
The lake is dark and still,
Reflecting on its shadowy breast
Each form of rock and hill.
The lime-leaf waves not in the grove,
The rose-tree in the bower;
The birds have ceased their songs of love,
Awed by the threatening hour.
’Tis noon;—yet nature’s calm profound
Seems as at midnight deep:
But hark! what peal of awful sound
Breaks on creation’s sleep?
The thunder-burst!—its rolling might
Seems the firm hills to shake;
And in terrific splendour bright
The gather’d lightnings break.
Yet fear not, shrink not thou, my child!
Though by the bolt’s descent
Were the tall cliffs in ruins piled,
And the wide forests rent.
Doth not thy God behold thee still,
With all-surveying eye?
Doth not his power all nature fill,
Around, beneath, on high?
Know, hadst thou eagle-pinions free,
To track the realms of air,
Thou couldst not reach a spot, where He
Would not be with thee there!
In the wide city’s peopled towers,
On the vast ocean’s plains,
Midst the deep woodland’s loneliest bowers,
Alike the Almighty reigns!
Then fear not, though the angry sky
A thousand darts should cast;
Why should we tremble, e’en to die,
And be with Him at last?

THE BIRDS.

“Are not five sparrows sold for two farthings; and not one of them is forgotten before God?”—St Luke, xii. 6.

Tribes of the air! whose favour’d race
May wander through the realms of space,
Free guests of earth and sky;
In form, in plumage, and in song,
What gifts of nature mark your throng
With bright variety!
Nor differ less your forms, your flight,
Your dwellings hid from hostile sight,
And the wild haunts ye love;
Birds of the gentle beak![407] how dear
Your wood-note to the wanderer’s ear,
In shadowy vale or grove!
Far other scenes, remote, sublime,
Where swain or hunter may not climb
The mountain-eagle seeks;
Alone he reigns a monarch there,
Scarce will the chamois’ footstep dare
Ascend his Alpine peaks.
Others there are that make their home
Where the white billows roar and foam
Around the o’erhanging rock;
Fearless they skim the angry wave,
Or, shelter’d in their sea-beat cave,
The tempest’s fury mock.
Where Afric’s burning realm expands,
The ostrich haunts the desert-sands,
Parch’d by the blaze of day;
The swan, where northern rivers glide,
Through the tall reeds that fringe their tide
Floats graceful on her way.
The condor, where the Andes tower,
Spreads his broad wing of pride and power,
And many a storm defies;
Bright in the Orient realms of morn,
All beauty’s richest hues adorn
The bird of paradise.
Some, amidst India’s groves of palm,
And spicy forests breathing balm,
Weave soft their pendant nest;
Some, deep in Western wilds, display
Their fairy form and plumage gay,
In rainbow colours drest.
Others no varied song may pour,
May boast no eagle-plume to soar,
No tints of light may wear;
Yet know, our Heavenly Father guides
The least of these, and well provides
For each, with tenderest care.
Shall He not then thy guardian be?
Will not His aid extend to thee?
Oh, safely may’st thou rest!—
Trust in His love; and e’en should pain,
Should sorrow, tempt thee to complain,
Know what He wills is best!

[407] The Italians call all singing-birds, birds of the gentle beak.

THE SKYLARK.

CHILD’S MORNING HYMN.

The skylark, when the dews of morn
Hang tremulous on flower and thorn,
And violets round his nest exhale
Their fragrance on the early gale,
To the first sunbeam spreads his wings,
Buoyant with joy, and soars and sings.
He rests not on the leafy spray
To warble his exulting lay;
But high above the morning cloud
Mounts in triumphant freedom proud,
And swells, when nearest to the sky,
His notes of sweetest ecstasy.
Thus, my Creator! thus the more
My spirit’s wing to Thee can soar,
The more she triumphs to behold
Thy love in all thy works unfold,
And bids her hymns of rapture be
Most glad, when rising most to Thee!

THE NIGHTINGALE.

CHILD’S EVENING HYMN.

When twilight’s gray and pensive hour
Brings the low breeze, and shuts the flower,
And bids the solitary star
Shine in pale beauty from afar;
When gathering shades the landscape veil,
And peasants seek their village-dale,
And mists from river-wave arise,
And dew in every blossom lies;
When evening’s primrose opes to shed
Soft fragrance round her grassy bed;
When glow-worms in the wood-walk light
Their lamp to cheer the traveller’s sight;—
At that calm hour, so still, so pale,
Awakes the lonely nightingale;
And from a hermitage of shade
Fills with her voice the forest glade.
And sweeter far that melting voice
Than all which through the day rejoice;
And still shall bard and wanderer love
The twilight music of the grove.
Father in heaven! oh, thus when day
With all its cares hath pass’d away,
And silent hours waft peace on earth,
And hush the louder strains of mirth;
Thus may sweet songs of praise and prayer
To Thee my spirit’s offering bear—
Yon star, my signal, set on high,
For vesper-hymns of piety.
So may Thy mercy and Thy power
Protect me through the midnight hour,
And balmy sleep and visions blest
Smile on Thy servant’s bed of rest.

THE NORTHERN SPRING.

When the soft breath of Spring goes forth
Far o’er the mountains of the North,
How soon those wastes of dazzling snow
With life, and bloom, and beauty glow!
Then bursts the verdure of the plains,
Then break the streams from icy chains;
And the glad reindeer seeks no more
Amidst deep snows his mossy store.
Then the dark pine-wood’s boughs are seen
Fringed tenderly with living green;
And roses, in their brightest dyes,
By Lapland’s founts and lakes arise.
Thus, in a moment, from the gloom
And the cold fetters of the tomb,
Thus shall the blest Redeemer’s voice
Call forth his servants to rejoice.
For He, whose word is truth, hath said,
His power to life shall wake the dead,
And summon those he loves on high,
To “put on immortality!”
Then, all its transient sufferings o’er,
On wings of light the soul shall soar,
Exulting, to that blest abode
Where tears of sorrow never flow’d.

Early in the year 1834, the little volume of Hymns for Childhood (which, though written many years before, had never been published in England) was brought out by Messrs Curry of Dublin, who were also the publishers of the National Lyrics, which appeared in a collected form about the same time. Of the latter, Mrs Hemans thus wrote to her friend Mrs Lawrence, in the note which accompanied the volume:—“I think you will love my little book, though it contains but the broken music of a troubled heart—for all the hours it will recall to you beam fresh and bright as ever in my memory, though I have passed through but too many of sad and deep excitement since that period.”—Memoir, p. 269.]

PARAPHRASE OF PSALM CXLVIII.

“Praise ye the Lord. Praise ye the Lord from the heavens: praise him in the heights.”

Praise ye the Lord! on every height
Songs to his glory raise!
Ye angel-hosts, ye stars of night,
Join in immortal praise!
O heaven of heavens! let praise far-swelling
From all thine orbs be sent!
Join in the strain, ye waters, dwelling!
Above the firmament!
For His the word which gave you birth,
And majesty and might:
Praise to the Highest from the earth,
And let the deeps unite!
O fire and vapour, hail and snow!
Ye servants of His will;
O stormy winds! that only blow
His mandates to fulfil;
Mountains and rocks, to heaven that rise!
Fair cedars of the wood!
Creatures of life that wing the skies,
Or track the plains for food!
Judges of nations! kings, whose hand
Waves the proud sceptre high!
O youths and virgins of the land!
O age and infancy!
Praise ye His name, to whom alone
All homage should be given;
Whose glory from the eternal throne
Spreads wide o’er earth and heaven!