Since I’ve come to think, ’twas a German-tried school; And a submarine ship was never for me; And the proudest old Hun thus out-reached the fool. But behold, you elect, a nigger and a mule, In new ground in August—thank God I am free! I’m only a witness on a smoother sea.
God bless his wide sea, and the nigger in school; And all men make free—’twould be heaven for me— And God bless the poor mule, and the mule-headed fool.
How pleasing the wonders of Nature—how varied and how vast, And the mystery of all the unknown doth hold me firm and fast; For so the Creator ordained that men should seek and know; That the heart of man may ever rise and forever flow, From pebble small in singing brook to yonder neighboring star; From star to a wider system and on to worlds afar.
’Tis only infinite mind can bridge the space between, Our planet and greater sun and constellations seen, Beyond which are stars yet farther, the living and the dead, And they tell us there are millions larger in the boundless spread. Imagination wearies of so vast an evolution, But glories in the love of Him who planned such contribution.
The spider doth weave and swing his tiny, fragile bridge, And man in his nobler work doth span from ridge to ridge; But when men become as gods, and angels as such men, With dominion of Jehovah and his transcendent ken, Ah many a mansion shall we visit in our Father’s home, As we fly beneath his banner, with ages and ages to roam.
’Tis a fathomless universe, but the plan eternal is one, On which good men and angels may forever run, O’er many a threatening torrent here, chasm, wide and great; And ever man and gods shall their new links create— Some for service and for song, and some for wonder and delight; And some time, somewhere the Bridge—to everlasting light.
When awaking from dreams completely refresht, My body reclining still; With a soul alive and a heart at rest, And master too of my will—
When the sun doth cast ambitious rays, Foretelling afar his race; And my heart is clothed with the garment of praise By an all pervading grace—
When I hear the psalm of the gifted Thrush, With a song of a mountain stream, And a child’s sweet laugh, while the morn’s a-flush, When Nature is all a-gleam—