Niagara

Flow on, for ever, in thy glorious robeOf terror and of beauty.—Yea, flow on,—Unfathom'd and resistless. God hath setHis rainbow on thy forehead, and the cloudMantled around thy feet. And He doth giveThy voice of thunder power to speak of HimEternally,—bidding the lip of manKeep silence, and upon thine altar pourIncense of awe-struck praise.Earth fears to liftThe insect-trump that tells her trifling joys,And fleeting triumphs, 'mid the peal sublimeOf thy tremendous hymn. Proud Ocean shrinksBack from thy brotherhood, and all his wavesRetire abash'd. For he hath need to sleepSometimes, like a spent labourer, calling homeHis boisterous billows, from their vexing play,To a long, dreary calm: but thy strong tideFaints not, nor e'er, with failing heart, forgetsIts everlasting lesson,—night nor day.The morning stars, that hail'd creation's birth,Heard thy hoarse anthem, mixing with their songJehovah's name: and the dissolving fires,That wait the mandate of the day of doomTo wreck the earth, shall find it deep inscrib'dUpon thy rocky scroll.The lofty trees,That list thy teachings, scorn the lighter loreOf the too fitful winds; while their young leavesGather fresh greenness from thy living spray,Yet tremble at the baptism. Lo! yon birds,How bold they venture near, dipping their wingIn all thy mist and foam. Perchance 'tis meetFor them to touch thy garment's hem, or stirThy diamond wreath, who sport upon the cloud,Unblam'd, or warble at the gate of heavenWithout reproof. But, as for us, it seemsScarce lawful, with our erring lips, to talkFamiliarly of thee.—Methinks, to traceThine awful features, with our pencil's point,Were but to press on Sinai.Thou dost speakAlone of God, who pour'd thee as a dropFrom his right hand,—bidding the soul that looksUpon thy fearful majesty be still,Be humbly wrapp'd in its nothingness,And lose itself in Him.