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“ But thou,” said I, “ hast miss'd thy mark, Who sought'st to wreck my mortal ark, By making all the horizon dark.
Why not set forth, if I should do This rashness, that which might ensue With this old soul in organs new?
“ Whatever crazy sorrow saith,
“ 'Tis life, whereof our nerves are scant, Oh life, not death, for which we pant ; More life, and fuller, that I want."
I ceas'd, and sat as one forlorn.
Behold, it is the Sabbath morn."
And I arose, and I released
Like soften'd airs that blowing steal,
On to God's house the people prest : Passing the place where each must rest, Each enter'd like a welcome guest.
One walk'd between his wife and child, With measur'd footfall firm and mild, And now and then he gravely smiled.
The prudent partner of his blood Lean'd on him, faithful, gentle, good, Wearing the rose of womanhood.
And in their double love secure,
The little maiden walk'd demure, Pacing with downward eyelids pure.
These three made unity so sweet,
I blest them, and they wander'd on :
A second voice was at mine ear,
« Be of better cheer."
As from some blissful neighbourhood,
A little hint to solace woe,
Like an Æolian harp that wakes
Such seem'd the whisper at my side : “What is it thou knowest, sweet voice ? ” I cried. “ A hidden hope," the voice replied :
So heavenly-toned, that in that hour
To feel, altho' no tongue can prove,
And forth into the fields I went,
I wonder'd at the bounteous hours,
The slow result of winter showers :
You scarce could see the grass for flowers.
I wonder'd, while I paced along :
So variously seem'd all things wrought,