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"The Pilgrim they laid in a large upper chamber, whose window opened towards the sun-rising; the name of the chamber was Peace; where he slept till break of day, and then he awoke and sang."— The Pilgrim's Progress.
Now, brighter than the host, that, all night long,
In fiery armor, up the heavens high
Stood watch, thou com'st to wait the morning's song.
My mourning eyes with silent tears do swim;
Thou bid'st me turn to God, and seek my rest in him.
"Canst thou grow sad," thou say'st, "as earth grows bright?
And sigh, when little birds begin discourse
In quick, low voices, e'er the streaming light
Pours on their nests, as sprung from day's fresh source?
A sharer be, if that thine heart be pure.
And holy hour like this, save sharp remorse,
Of ills and pains of life must be the cure,
And breathe in kindred calm, and teach thee to endure."
I feel its calm. But there's a sombrous hue
The vast world seems the tomb of all the dead-
And ended, all alike, grief, mirth, love, hate, and wrong.
But wrong, and hate, and love, and grief, and mirth
With discord strange, and all that man calls life.
With thousand scattered beauties nature's rife ;
And airs, and woods, and streams, breathe harmonies :
Man weds not these, but taketh art to wife;
Nor binds his heart with soft and kindly ties :
He, feverish, blinded, lives, and, feverish, sated, dies.
And 'tis because man useth so amiss
Her dearest blessings, Nature seemeth sad;
From her fair face?-It is that man is mad!
Then chide me not, clear star, that I repine,
When Nature grieves; nor deem this heart is bad.
Thou look'st towards earth; but yet the heavens are thine;
While I to earth am bound:-When will the heavens be mine?
If man would but his finer nature learn,
Of simpler things; could Nature's features stern
But not for this alone, the silent tear
Steals to mine eyes, while looking on the morn,
And when I grieve, O, rather let it be
A beauty see-that I this mother mild
Should leave, and go with Care, and passions fierce and wild
How suddenly that straight and glittering shaft
Be called my chamber, PEACE, when ends the day; And let me with the dawn, like PILGRIM, sing and pray!
THE LITTLE BEACH BIRD.
THOU little bird, thou dweller by the sea,
O'er the waves dost thou fly?
O, rather, bird with me,
Through the fair land rejoice!
Thy flitting form comes ghostly dim and pale,
Thy cry is weak and scared,
As if thy mates had shared
What does it bring to me?
Thou call'st along the sand, and haunt'st the surge,
With motion, and with roar
Of waves that drive to shore,
One spirit did ye urge—
The Mystery-the Word.
Of thousands thou, both sepulchre and pall,
A tale of mourning tells-
Then turn thee, little bird, and take thy flight
Come, quit with me the shore,
For gladness and the light,
Where birds of summer sing.
THE CONSTANCY OF NATURE CONTRASTED WITH THE CHANGES IN HUMAN LIFE.
How like eternity doth nature seem
To life of man-that short and fitful dream!