Meek Brook, that from the haunts of men dost creep,
Still ever and anon loving to steal
To thine own sweet retirement, and reveal
Unseen thy gentle bosom, calm and deep,
Unto the azure Heavens, that fairer sleep
Beneath thy tranquil mirror. 'Neath thy bower
Ministering freshness to the little flower,
And roots of grateful willow, taught to steep
In thy sweet stream its summer canopy;
Many regard thee not, but turn from thee
To where the meeting waves rage beauteously,
Where down wild steeps some silvery Naiad runs,
Or watery Bacchanal sports in sylvan suns;
Thou calm and deep art ever moving by.
Art stilly moving by the unseen vale,
To thy bright ocean! Spirit calm and clear,
Thankful thy cross in tranquil love to bear:
Meek soul, thy deeds are not upon the gale,
Or tongues of men, that with thine own shall fail,
But written in Heav'n's adamant. Still fear
And walk with lowliness; nor think that here
Lost are thy tears, which doors of Heav'n assail,
To fall in dews of blessing. Not for loss
Thou tend❜st the lamp within; for it shall be
A light around thee thro' the caves of death.
And at thy side, when thou layest down thy cross,
Shall thy good Angel stand, with suppliant wreath,
Faith's golden fruits and deeds of charity.
Heed not a world that neither thee can keep,
Nor vestige of thee, whatsoe'er thy lot,
Of thee or thine, nor mark when thou art not.
No more! engulph'd within the sounding deep!
Faint and more faint the billowy circles sweep,
And trembling own the shock, then 'tis forgot;
The leaf's still image anchors on the spot;
The wave is in its noon-day couch asleep.
We mark'd the eddying whirlpools close around
Where he hath been; but who the path profound,
What thought can follow 'neath the watery floor,
'Mid sights of strangeness and untravell❜d caves,
Ocean's wild deeps of ever-moving waves,
A boundless new horizon spreading round?
The good-they drop around us, one by one,
Like stars when morning breaks; though lost to sight,
Around us are they still in Heaven's own light,
Building their mansions in the purer zone
Of the Invisible: when round are thrown
Shadows of sorrow, still serenely bright,
To faith they gleam; and blest be sorrow's night
That brings the o'er-arching Heav'ns in silence down,
A mantle set with orbs unearthly fair!
Alas! to us they are not, though they dwell,
Divinely dwell in memory; while life's sun,
Declining, bids us for the night prepare,
That we, with urns of light, and our task done,
May stand with them in lot unchangeable.
Fear not, thy cruise of oil, it shall not cease;
One greater than Elijah sitteth here,
Though Poverty's grim stare and iron fear
Hedgeth thee round. Thy cruise shall not decrease,
Nor barrel waste: the sun is then most near
When hid in winter; and the bow of peace
Binds the dark cloud. For all to Him are dear
The king who sits in golden palaces,
The bird that sings to winter's hoary tress:
He is all-Infinite! greater and less
In Him are not; but, as the helpless child
Doth to the yearning mother dearer prove,
Them to Himself He hath the nearest styled,
Who have on earth no blessing, but His love.
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