VI. And wrought within his shattered brain such quick poetic senses As hills have language for, and stars, harmonious influences: The pulse of dew upon the grass kept his within its number, And silent shadows from the trees refreshed him like a slumber. VII. Wild timid hares were drawn from woods to share his home-caresses, Uplooking to his human eyes with sylvan tendernesses : The very world, by God's constraint, from falsehood's ways removing, Its women and its men became, beside him, true and loving. VIII. And though, in blindness, he remained unconscious of that guiding, And things provided came without the sweet sense of providing, He testified this solemn truth, while phrenzy deso lated, -Nor man nor nature satisfies whom only God created. IX. Like a sick child that knoweth not his mother while * she blesses And drops upon his burning brow the coolness of her kisses, That turns his fevered eyes around-'My mother! where's my mother ?' As if such tender words and deeds could come from any other! X. The fever gone, with leaps of heart he sees her bending o'er him, Her face all pale from watchful love, the unweary love she bore him! Thus woke the poet from the dream his life's long fever gave him, Beneath those deep pathetic Eyes which closed in death to save him. XI. Thus? oh, not thus! no type of earth can image that awaking, Wherein he scarcely heard the chant of seraphs, round him breaking, Or felt the new immortal throb of soul from body parted, But felt those eyes alone, and knew,- My Saviour! not deserted!' XII. Deserted! Who hath dreamt that when the cross in darkness rested, Upon the Victim's hidden face no love was mani fested? What frantic hands outstretched have e'er the atoning drops averted ? What tears have washed them from the soul, that one should be deserted? XIII. Deserted! God could separate from His own essence rather; And Adam's sins have swept between the righteous Son and Father: Yea, once, Immanuel's orphaned cry His universe hath shaken It went up single, echoless, 'My God, I am forsaken!' XIV. It went up from the Holy's lips amid His lost creation, That, of the lost, no son should use those words of desolation! That earth's worst phrenzies, marring hope, should mar not hope's fruition, And I, on Cowper's grave, should see his rapture in a vision. THE WEAKEST THING. I. WHICH is the weakest thing of all The cloud, a little wind can move Where'er it listeth? The wind, a little leaf above, II. What time that yellow leaf was green, My days were gladder; But now, whatever Spring may mean, I must grow sadder. Ah me! a leaf with sighs can wring My lips asunder? Then is mine heart the weakest thing Itself can ponder. |