Choice Specimens of American Literature, and Literary Reader · Chapter 274=353.= the Rainbow
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Mark, o'er yon wild, as melts the storm away, The rainbow tints their various hues display; Beauteous, though faint, though deeply shaded, bright, They span the clearing heavens, and charm the sight. Yes, as I gaze, methinks I view—the while, Hope's radiant form, and Mercy's genial smile. Who doth not see, in that sweet bow of heaven, Circling around the twilight hills of even, Religion's light, which o'er the wilds of life Shoots its pure rays through misery and strife; Soothes the lone bosom, as it pines in woe, And turns to heaven this barren world below? O, what were man, did not her hallowed ray Disperse, the clouds that thicken on his way! A weary pilgrim, left in cheerless gloom, To grope his midnight journey to the tomb; His life a tempest, death, a wreck forlorn, In sorrow dying, as in sorrow born.
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From "The Tourist"