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Blest are the moments, doubly blest,
That, drawn from this one hour of rest,
Upon the service of our God!
Each field is then a hallowed spot,
A church in every grove that spreads
Look up to Heaven! the industrious Sun
He cannot halt nor go astray,
Lord! since his rising in the East,
Help with thy grace, through life's short day, Our upward and our downward way;
And glorify for us the west,
When we shall sink to final rest.
COMPOSED ON MAY MORNING.
[THIS and the following poem originated in the lines "How delicate the leafy veil," &c.-My daughter and I left Rydal Mount upon a tour through our mountains with Mr. and Mrs. Carr in the month of May, 1826, and as we were going up the vale of Newlands I was struck with the appearance of the little chapel gleaming through the veil of half-opened leaves; and the feeling which was then conveyed to my mind was expressed in the stanza referred to above. As in the case of "Liberty" and "Humanity," my first intention was to write only one poem, but subsequently I broke it into two, making additions to each part so as to produce a consistent and appropriate whole.]
WHILE from the purpling east departs
The star that led the dawn,
Blithe Flora from her couch upstarts,
For May is on the lawn.
A quickening hope, a freshening glee,
Whose first-drawn breath, from bush and tree,
All Nature welcomes Her whose sway
Tempers the year's extremes;
The tremulous heart excite;
And hums the balmy air to still
Time was, blest Power! when youths and maids of dawn would rise,
And wander forth, in forest glades
Thy birth to solemnize.
Though mute the song-to grace the rite
Untouched the hawthorn bough, Thy Spirit triumphs o'er the slight; Man changes, but not Thou!
Thy feathered Lieges bill and wings
Warmed by thy influence, creeping things
Awake to silent joy:
Queen art thou still for each gay plant
Cloud-piercing peak, and trackless heath,
Nor wants the dim-lit cave a wreath
Their puniest flower-pot-nursling dares
And if, on this thy natal morn,
Still from the village-green a vow
Yes! where Love nestles thou canst teach
The soul to love the more; Hearts also shall thy lessons reach
That never loved before.
Stript is the haughty one of pride,
Hush, feeble lyre! weak words refuse
His voice shall chant, in accents clear,
Throughout the live-long day,
Till the first silver star appear,
The sovereignty of May.
THOUGH many suns have risen and set
Delicious odours! music sweet,
That, when a thousand years are told,
Earth, sea, thy presence feel-nor less,
With its soft smile the truth express,
Partakes a livelier cheer;
And eyes that cannot but be sad
Let fall a brightened tear.