And if sometimes it fly not our poffeffing,
The sweetness of it is not understood ;
Had we no winter, summer would be thought
Not half so pleafing; and if tempefts were not,
Such comforts by a calm could not be brought;
For things, save by their oppofites, appear not.
Both health and wealth are tafteless unto some,
And so is ease and every other pleasure,
Till poor, or fick, or grievéd, they become,
And then they relish these in ampler measure.
God, therefore, full of kind, as He is wise,
So tempereth all the favours He will do us,
That we his bounties may the better prize,
And make his chaftisements less bitter to us.
One while a scorching indignation burns
The flowers and bloffoms of our hopes away, Which into scarcity our plenty turns,
And changeth new-mown grafs to parchéd hay; Anon his fruitful fhowers and pleafing dews,
Commixed with cheerful rays, He sendeth down, And then the barren earth her crops renews,
Which, with rich harvests, hills and valleys crown; For, as to relish joys, He sorrow sends ; So comfort on temptation ftill attends.
OTHING refting in its own completeness,
Can have worth or beauty: but alone
Because it leads and tends to farther sweetness,
Fuller, higher, deeper than its own.
Spring's real glory dwells not in the meaning,
Gracious though it be, of her blue hours:
But is hidden in her tender leaning.
Towards the summer's richer wealth of flowers.
Dawn is fair, because her mifts fade flowly
Into day, which floods the world with light;
Twilight's mystery is so sweet and holy,
Just because it ends in starry night.
Life is only bright when it proceedeth
Towards a truer, deeper Life above;
Human love is sweetest when it leadeth
To a more divine and perfect love.
Childhood's smiles unconscious graces borrow
From ftrife that in a far-off future lies;
And angel glances veiled now by life's sorrow,
Draw our hearts to some beloved eyes.
Learn the mystery of progreffion duly;
Do not call each glorious change decay; But know we only hold our treasures truly, When it seems as if they paffed away.
Nor dare to blame God's gifts for incompleteness;
In that want their beauty lies; they roll
Towards some infinite depth of love and sweetness,
Bearing onward man's reluctant soul.
WRITTEN AFTER HEARING SOME BEAUTIFUL SINGING IN A CONVENT
WEET voices! seldom mortal ear
Strains of such potency might hear;
My soul that liftened, seemed quite gone,
Dissolved in sweetnefs, and anon
I was borne upward, till I trod
Among the hierarchy of God.
And when they ceased, as time must bring
An end to every sweetest thing,
With what reluctancy came back
My spirits to their wonted track,
And how I loathed the common life.
The daily and recurring ftrife
With petty fins, the lowly road,
And being's ordinary load!
-Why, after such a solemn mood,
Should any meaner thought intrude?
Why will not heaven hereafter give,
That we for evermore may live
Thus at our spirit's topmost bent?
So afked in my discontent.
But give me, Lord, a wiser heart;
These seasons come, and they depart-
These seasons, and those higher still,
When we are given to have our fill
Of strength, and life, and joy with thee,
And brightness of thy face to see!
They come, or we could never guess
Of heaven's sublimer bleffedness ;
They come, to be our ftrength and cheer
In other times, in doubt or fear,
Or fhould our solitary way
Lie through the desert many a day.
They go-they leave us blank and dead,
That we may learn, when they are fled,
We are but vapors which have won
A moment's brightness from the sun,
And which it may at pleasure fill
With splendor, or unclothe at will.
Well for us they do not abide,
Or we should lose ourselves in pride,
And be as angels - but as they
Who on the battlements of day
Walked, gazing on their power and might,
Till they grew giddy in their height.
Then welcome every nobler time,
When out of reach of earth's dull chime
'Tis ours to drink with purgéd ears
The mufic of the solemn spheres,
Or in the desert to have fight
Of those enchanted cities bright,
Which sensual eye can never see:
Thrice welcome may such seasons be;
But welcome too the common way,
The lowly duties of the day,
And all which makes and keeps us low,
Which teaches us ourselves to know,
That we who do our lineage high
Draw from beyond the ftarry sky,
Are yet upon the other fide—
To earth and to its duft allied.
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