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So rose and fell
This Matin Hymn of warbled notes
In minstrel lay,
At Dawn of Day;
I felt the thrill
My being fill.
So in the East
To shepherd band,
So must have sung
Telling out abroad,
The majesty of God.
Am I on Earth,
Whose blossoms sweet,
Or have I reached
Of perfect Love,
The Home Above ?
Are these the Songs
The Carols sweet,
Can this be Dawn ?
The Child of Earth !Is clad with Immortality,
And Second Birth?
Or am I Home, In Innocence and Youth, once more
A prattling Child, That, sportive, plays about the floor?
Has Youth come back ? Can Morning light that Rapture give,
That Springtide Joy ! Which I again would willing live
As when a Boy ?
Nay, such again
But in that Land, When Morning breaks we may Regain
The germs of Youth; And Immortality attain,
In very Truth!
Thus did I muse,
In early spring;
The angels sing
Who travel on
To rest beyond.
I felt their balm ;
They told of palm,
My heart revived
Composed at Brawby, July 19-22, 1886. During spring in the village of Brawby, its orchards of plums and apples, its fine forest trees, thorn hedgerows, and berry-bearing garden bushes, each coming forth in tender leaves of emerald hue, or blossoms of milky whiteness, form one of the prettiest of rural charms. Add to these the songs of the numerous birds which abound in and around the village, and you have something which at once delights the eye, charms the ear, and raises in the soul thoughts refreshing and profound. Such have been my sensations when thus awaking as described.
HARK! didst thou hear that solemn knell
From yonder old church tower ? Yea ! but was it not the village clock
Proclaiming forth the hour ?
Nay ! no village clock is in this place;
It must have been a bell.
It says 'Farewell, farewell !
See ! groups of people gather round
Yon thatched house mid the trees, Whose variegated foliage
Flies fluttering on the breeze.
Here comes a rural labourer;
Let's ask him !-who is dead ? 'Our parson, Mr. Abbey, sir;'
Then falt'ringly he said :
I well remember when a boy,
His coming to this place, 'Tis forty years or more, ah, me !
How time doth quickly race!
He was a young man then, sirs,
Just like my eldest now;
Made white locks round his brow.
'Aye! like a faded autumn leaf,
Or ripe fruit from a tree,
Cast off mortality.
'I stood beside his dying bed,
As fell the shades of night ; And heard him say victoriously,
“ If death comes all is right !”
"I looked upon
him after Death Had worked his sovereign will; And saw him lying there, so calm,
So peaceful, and so still.
'Then turning from that darken'd room,
I muttered, “ All is well" ; That poor frail body lying there
Is but the earthly shell.
His spirit now is with the Lord
He served so faithful here;