Noon. - From An Unfinished Poem.

'Tis noon. At noon the Hebrew bowed the knee     And worshipped, while the husbandmen withdrew     From the scorched field, and the wayfaring man     Grew faint, and turned aside by bubbling fount,     Or rested in the shadow of the palm.     I, too, amid the overflow of day,     Behold the power which wields and cherishes     The frame of Nature. From this brow of rock     That overlooks the Hudson's western marge,     I gaze upon the long array of groves,     The piles and gulfs of verdure drinking in     The grateful heats. They love the fiery sun;     Their broadening leaves grow glossier, and their sprays     Climb as he looks upon them. In the midst,     The swelling river, into his green gulfs,     Unshadowed save by passing sails above,     Takes the redundant glory, and enjoys     The summer in his chilly bed. Coy flowers,     That would not open in the early light,     Push back their plaited sheaths. The rivulet's pool,     That darkly quivered all the morning long     In the cool shade, now glimmers in the sun;     And o'er its surface shoots, and shoots again,     The glittering dragon-fly, and deep within     Run the brown water-beetles to and fro.     A silence, the brief sabbath of an hour,     Reigns o'er the fields; the laborer sits within     His dwelling; he has left his steers awhile,     Unyoked, to bite the herbage, and his dog     Sleeps stretched beside the door-stone in the shade.     Now the grey marmot, with uplifted paws,     No more sits listening by his den, but steals     Abroad, in safety, to the clover field,     And crops its juicy blossoms. All the while     A ceaseless murmur from the populous town     Swells o'er these solitudes: a mingled sound     Of jarring wheels, and iron hoofs that clash     Upon the stony ways, and hammer-clang,     And creak of engines lifting ponderous bulks,     And calls and cries, and tread of eager feet,     Innumerable, hurrying to and fro.     Noon, in that mighty mart of nations, brings     No pause to toil and care. With early day     Began the tumult, and shall only cease     When midnight, hushing one by one the sounds     Of bustle, gathers the tired brood to rest.     Thus, in this feverish time, when love of gain     And luxury possess the hearts of men,     Thus is it with the noon of human life.     We, in our fervid manhood, in our strength     Of reason, we, with hurry, noise, and care,     Plan, toil, and strife, and pause not to refresh     Our spirits with the calm and beautiful     Of God's harmonious universe, that won     Our youthful wonder; pause not to inquire     Why we are here; and what the reverence     Man owes to man, and what the mystery     That links us to the greater world, beside     Whose borders we but hover for a space.