The first light they beheld was bright and gay,

And turned their night to day;

But to this later light they saw in him,
Their day was dark and dim.

THE GARLAND.

WHEN first my youthful, sinful age
Grew master of my ways,

Appointing error for my page,
And darkness for my days;

I flung away, and with full cry
Of wild affections, rid
In post for pleasures, bent to try
All gamesters that would bid.

I played with fire, did counsel spurn,
Made life my common stake;

But never thought that fire would burn,
Or that a soul could ache.
Glorious deceptions, gilded mists,
False joys, fantastic flights,
Pieces of sackcloth with silk lists,

These were my prime delights.

I sought choice bowers, haunted the spring,
Culled flowers, and made me posies;
Gave my fond humors their full wing,

And crowned my head with roses.

But at the height of this career
I met with a dead man,

Who, noting well my vain abear,
Thus unto me began:

Desist, fond fool, be not undone,
What thou hast cut to-day

Will fade at night, and with this sun
Quite vanish and decay.

WHAT happy, secret fountain,
Fair shade, or mountain,

Whose undiscovered virgin glory

Boasts it this day, though not in story,
Was then thy dwelling? did some cloud,
Fixed to a tent, descend and shroud
My distressed Lord? or did a star,
Beckoned by thee, though high and far,
In sparkling smiles haste gladly down.
To lodge light and increase her own?
My dear, dear God! I do not know
What lodged thee then, nor where, nor how ;
But I am sure thou dost now come

Oft to a narrow, homely room,

Where thou too hast but the least part;
My God, I mean my sinful heart.

THEY are all gone into a world of light,
I alone sit lingering here;

Their very memory is fair and bright,
And my sad thoughts doth clear.

It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast,
Like stars upon some gloomy grove;

Or those faint beams in which the hill is dressed
After the sun's remove.

I see them walking in an air of glory,

Whose light doth trample on my days; My days which are at best but dull and hoary, Mere glimmerings and decays.

O holy Hope, and high Humility,

High as the heavens above!

These are your walks, and you have showed them me, To kindle my cold love.

Dear, beauteous Death, the jewel of the just,

Shining nowhere but in the dark,

What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust,

Could man outlook that mark!

He that hath found some fledged bird's nest may know,
At first sight, if the bird be flown;

But what fair field, or grove, he sings in now,
That is to him unknown.

And yet as angels, in some brighter dreams,
Call to the soul when man doth sleep,

So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes,
And into glory peep.

If a star were confined into a tomb,

Her captive flame must needs burn there;
But when the hand that locked her up gave room,
She'd shine through all the sphere.

O Father of eternal life, and all

Created glories under Thee!

Resume thy spirit from this world of thrall
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.

THE WREATH.

SINCE I in storms most used to be,
And seldom yielded flowers,
How shall I get a wreath for Thee
From these rude barren hours?

The softer dressings of the spring,
Or summer's later store,

I will not for thy temples bring,
Which thorns, not roses, wore ;

But a twined wreath of grief and praise,

Praise soiled with tears, and tears again

Shining with joy, like dewy days,

This day I bring for all Thy pain.

SUNDAYS.

BRIGHT shadows of true rest! some shoots of bliss!

Heaven once a week;

The next world's gladness prepossessed in this;

A day to seek

Eternity in time; the steps by which

We climb above all ages; lamps that light
Man through his heap of dark days; and the rich
And full redemption of the whole week's flight:
The pulleys unto headlong man; time's bower;
The narrow way;

Transplanted paradise; God's walking hour;
The cool o' the day;

The creature's jubilee; God's parle with dust;
Heaven here; man on those hills of myrrh, of flowers;
Angels descending; the returns of trust;

A gleam of glory after six days' showers;
The Church's love-feasts; time's prerogative

And interest

Deducted from the whole; the combs and hive,
And home of rest;

The milky-way chalked out with suns; a clue

That guides through erring hours, and in full story; A taste of heaven on earth; the pledge and cue Of a full feast, and the out-courts of glory.

THE RETREAT.

HAPPY those early days, when I
Shined in my angel-infancy!
Before I understood this place,
Appointed for my second race;
Or taught my soul to fancy aught
But a white celestial thought;
When yet I had not walked above
A mile or two from my first love;
And, looking back at that short space,
Could see a glimpse of his bright face;
When on some gilded cloud or flower
My gazing soul would dwell an hour,
And in those weaker glories spy
Some shadows of eternity;

Before I taught my tongue to wound
My conscience with a sinful sound;
Or had the black art to dispense,

A several sin to every sense;
But felt through all this fleshly dress
Bright shoots of everlastingness.
Oh how I long to travel back,

And tread again that ancient track!
That I might once more reach that plain

Where first I left my glorious train ;
From whence the enlightened spirit sees
That shady city of palm-trees;
But, oh! my soul, with too much stay,

Is drunk, and staggers in the way.