To-day, for the first time, I felt the Deity, And uttered prayer on hearing thunder. This Must be thy will,--for finer, higher spirits Have gone through this same process,--yet I think There was religion in that strong delight, Those sounds, those thoughts of power imparted. True, I did not say, "He is the Lord thy God," But I had feeling of his essence. But "'Twas pride by which the angels fell." So be it! But O, might I but see a little onward! Father, I cannot be a spirit of power; May I be active as a spirit of love, Since thou hast ta'en me from that path which Nature Seemed to appoint, O, deign to ope another, Where I may walk with thought and hope assured; "Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief!" Had I but faith like that which fired Novalis, I too could bear that the heart "fall in ashes," While the freed spirit rises from beneath them, With heavenward-look, and Phoenix-plumes upsoaring! RICHTER. Poet of Nature, gentlest of the wise, Most airy of the fanciful, most keen Of satirists, thy thoughts, like butterflies, Still near the sweetest scented flowers have been: With Titian's colors, thou canst sunset paint; With Raphael's dignity, celestial love; With Hogarth's pencil, each deceit and feint Of meanness and hypocrisy reprove; Canst to Devotion's highest flight sublime Exalt the mind; by tenderest pathos' art Dissolve in purifying tears the heart, Or bid it, shuddering, recoil at crime; The fond illusions of the youth and maid, At which so many world-formed sages sneer, When by thy altar-lighted torch displayed, Our natural religion must appear. All things in thee tend to one polar star; Magnetic all thy influences are; A labyrinth; a flowery wilderness. Some in thy "slip-boxes" and honeymoons Complain of--want of order, I confess, But not of system in its highest sense. Who asks a guiding clew through this wide mind, In love of nature such will surely find, In tropic climes, live like the tropic bird, Whene'er a spice-fraught grove may tempt thy stray; Nor be by cares of colder climes disturbed: No frost the summer's bloom shall drive away; Nature's wide temple and the azure dome Have plan enough for the free spirit's home. THE THANKFUL AND THE THANKLESS. With equal sweetness the commissioned hours Shed light and dew upon both weeds and flowers. The weeds unthankful raise their vile heads high, Flaunting back insult to the gracious sky; While the dear flowers, with fond humility, Uplift the eyelids of a starry eye In speechless homage, and, from grateful hearts, Perfume that homage all around imparts. PROPHECY AND FULFILMENT.