The first light they beheld was bright and gay, And turned their night to day; But to this later light they saw in him, THE GARLAND. WHEN first my youthful, sinful age Appointing error for my page, I flung away, and with full cry I played with fire, did counsel spurn, But never thought that fire would burn, These were my prime delights. I sought choice bowers, haunted the spring, And crowned my head with roses. But at the height of this career Who, noting well my vain abear, Desist, fond fool, be not undone, Will fade at night, and with this sun WHAT happy, secret fountain, Whose undiscovered virgin glory Boasts it this day, though not in story, Oft to a narrow, homely room, Where thou too hast but the least part; THEY are all gone into a world of light, Their very memory is fair and bright, It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast, Or those faint beams in which the hill is dressed I see them walking in an air of glory, Whose light doth trample on my days; My days which are at best but dull and hoary, Mere glimmerings and decays. O holy Hope, and high Humility, High as the heavens above! These are your walks, and you have showed them me, To kindle my cold love. Dear, beauteous Death, the jewel of the just, Shining nowhere but in the dark, What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust, Could man outlook that mark! He that hath found some fledged bird's nest may know, But what fair field, or grove, he sings in now, And yet as angels, in some brighter dreams, So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes, If a star were confined into a tomb, Her captive flame must needs burn there; O Father of eternal life, and all Created glories under Thee! Resume thy spirit from this world of thrall Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill My perspective still as they pass; Or else remove me hence unto that hill, Where I shall need no glass. THE WREATH. SINCE I in storms most used to be, The softer dressings of the spring, I will not for thy temples bring, But a twined wreath of grief and praise, Praise soiled with tears, and tears again Shining with joy, like dewy days, This day I bring for all Thy pain. SUNDAYS. BRIGHT shadows of true rest! some shoots of bliss! Heaven once a week; The next world's gladness prepossessed in this; A day to seek Eternity in time; the steps by which We climb above all ages; lamps that light Transplanted paradise; God's walking hour; The creature's jubilee; God's parle with dust; A gleam of glory after six days' showers; And interest Deducted from the whole; the combs and hive, The milky-way chalked out with suns; a clue That guides through erring hours, and in full story; A taste of heaven on earth; the pledge and cue Of a full feast, and the out-courts of glory. THE RETREAT. HAPPY those early days, when I Before I taught my tongue to wound A several sin to every sense; And tread again that ancient track! Where first I left my glorious train ; Is drunk, and staggers in the way. |