| THEY are all gone into the world of light! |
|
| And I alone sit lingring here; |
|
| Their very memory is fair and bright, |
|
| And my sad thoughts doth clear. |
|
| |
| It glows and glitters in my cloudy brest |
5 |
| Like stars upon some gloomy grove, |
|
| Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest, |
|
| After the Sun’s remove. |
|
| |
| I see them walking in an Air of glory, |
|
| Whose light doth trample on my days: |
10 |
| My days, which are at best but dull and hoary, |
|
| Meer glimering and decays. |
|
| |
| O holy hope! and high humility, |
|
| High as the Heavens above! |
|
| These are your walks, and you have shew’d them me |
15 |
| To kindle my cold love. |
|
| |
| Dear, beauteous death! the Jewel of the Just, |
|
| Shining no where, but in the dark; |
|
| What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust; |
|
| Could man outlook that mark! |
20 |
| |
| He that hath found some fledg’d birds nest, may know |
|
| At first sight, if the bird be flown; |
|
| But what fair Well, or Grove he sings in now, |
|
| That is to him unknown. |
|
| |
| And yet, as Angels in some brighter dreams |
25 |
| Call to the soul, when man doth sleep: |
|
| So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted theams, |
|
| And into glory peep. |
|
| |
| If a star were confin’d into a Tomb |
|
| Her captive flames must needs burn there; |
30 |
| But when the hand that lockt her up, gives room, |
|
| She’l shine through all the sphære. |
|
| |
| O Father of eternal life, and all |
|
| Created glories under thee! |
|
| Resume thy spirit from this world of thrall |
35 |
| Into true liberty. |
|
| |
| Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill |
|
| My perspective (still) as they pass, |
|
| Or else remove me hence unto that hill, |
|
| Where I shall need no glass. |