TO A WEATHERCOCK. THE dawn has broke, the morn is up, And there thy poised and gilded spear Is flashing in the sun, A true and faithful sentinel, For years upon thee there has pour'd And through the long, dark, starless night The winter-storms have beat: But yet thy duty has been done, By day and night the same; Still thou hast met and faced the storm, Whichever way it came. No chilling blast in wrath has swept Along the distant heaven, But thou hast watch'd its onward course, And distant warning given ; And when midsummer's sultry beams Oppress all human things, Thou dost foretell each breeze that comes With health upon its wings. How oft I've seen, at early dawn, And when, around thee, or above, Thou seem'st to watch the circling flight Of each free, happy bird, Till, after twittering round thy head In many a mazy track, The whole delighted company Have settled on thy back. Then, if, perchance, amidst their mirth, And, prompt to mark its first approach, I've thought I almost heard thee say, "Now all away!-here ends our play, Men slander thee, my honest friend, An emblem of their fickleness, Each weak, unstable human mind They have no right to make thy name They change their friends, their principles, Their fashions, and their creeds ; Whilst thou hast ne'er, like them, been known Thus causelessly to range; But, when thou changest sides, canst give Good reason for the change. Thou, like some lofty soul, whose course Which they do never know, Who round their earth-bound circles plod The dusty paths below. Through one more dark and cheerless night Thou well hast kept thy trust, And now in glory o'er thy head The morning light has burst. Will come "the day-spring from on high," |