"Where is God, that we should fear

Him?'

Thus the earth-born Titans say; 'God! if thou art living, hear us!' Thus the weak ones pray

"Thou, the patient Heaven upbraiding,"

Spake a solemn Voice within; "Weary of our Lord's forbearance, Art thou free from sin?

"Fearless brow to Him uplifting,
Canst thou for his thunders call,
Knowing that to guilt's attraction
Evermore they fall?

"Know'st thou not all germs of evil
In thy heart await their time?
Not thyself, but God's restraining,
Stays their growth of crime.

"Couldst thou boast, O child of weakness!

O'er the sons of wrong and strife, Were their strong temptations planted In thy path of life?

"Thou hast seen two streamlets gushing

From one fountain, clear and free, But by widely varying channels Searching for the sea.

"Glideth one through greenest valleys,
Kissing them with lips still sweet;
One, mad roaring down the mountains,
Stagnates at their feet.

"Is it choice whereby the Parsee
Kneels before his mother's fire?
In his black tent did the Tartar
Choose his wandering sire?

"He alone, whose hand is bounding Human power and human will, Looking through each soul's surround

ing,

Knows its good or ill.

"For thyself, while wrong and sorrow

Make to thee their strong appeal, Coward wert thou not to utter What the heart must feel.

153

But never a hint and never a line
Can I find of a reading fiend like mine.

I've crossed the Psalter with Brady and
Tate,

And laid the Primer above them all, I've nailed a horseshoe over the grate,

And hung a wig to my parlor wall Once worn by a learned Judge, they say, At Salem court in the witchcraft day! "Conjuro te, sceleratissime,

Abire ad tuum locum!"—still Like a visible nightmare he sits by me,The exorcism has lost its skill; And I hear again in my haunted room The husky wheeze and the dolorous hum!

157

And the Creole of Cuba laughs out to behold

Through orange-leaves shining the broad spheres of gold;

Yet with dearer delight from his home in the North,

On the fields of his harvest the Yankee looks forth,

Where crook-necks are coiling and yellow fruit shines,

And the sun of September melts down on his vines.

Ah! on Thanksgiving day, when from
East and from West.
From North and from South come the
pilgrim and guest,

When the gray-haired New-Englander sees round his board

The old broken links of affection restored,

When the care-wearied man seeks his mother once more,

And the worn matron smiles where the girl smiled before,

What moistens the lip and what brightens the eve?

What calls back the past, like the rich Pumpkin pie?

O, fruit loved of boyhood!— the old days recalling,

When wood-grapes were purpling and brown nuts were falling! When wild, ugly faces we carved in its skin,

Glaring out through the dark with a candle within!

When we laughed round the corn-heap, with hearts all in tune, Our chair a broad pumpkin, tern the moon,

our lan

Telling tales of the fairy who travelled Tike steam,

In a pumpkin-shell coach, with two rats for her team!

Then thanks for thy present! - none sweeter or better

E'er smoked from an oven or circled a platter!

Fairer hands never wrought at a pastry more fine,

Brighter eyes never watched o'er its baking, than thine!