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Blest are the moments, doubly blest,
That, drawn from this one hour of rest,
Are with a ready heart bestowed
Upon the service of our God!

Each field is then a hallowed spot,
An altar is in each man's cot,
A church in every grove

that spreads Its living roof above our heads.



to Heaven! the industrious Sun
Already half his race hath run;
He cannot halt nor go astray,
But our immortal Spirits may.

Lord! since his rising in the East,
If we have faltered or transgressed,
Guide, from thy love's abundant source,
What yet remains of this day's course :

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.

1834. XXXVIII.



[Thrs 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,

Foreran the expected Power,
Whose first-drawn breath, from bush and tree,

Shakes off that pearly shower.
All Nature welcomes Her whose sway

Tempers the year's extremes;
Who scattereth lustres o'er noon-day,

Like morning's dewy gleams;
While mellow warble, sprightly trill,

The tremulous heart excite;
And hums the balmy air to still

The balance of delight.

Time was, blest Power! when youths and maids

At peep of dawn would rise,
And yander 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

In love's disport employ;
Warmed by thy influence, creeping things

Awake to silent joy:
Queen art thou still for each gay plant

Where the slim wild deer roves;
And served in depths where fishes haunt

Their own mysterious groves.

Cloud-piercing peak, and trackless heath,

Instinctive homage pay;
Nor wants the dim-lit cave a wreath

To honour thee, sweet May !
Where cities fanned by thy brisk airs

Behold a smokeless sky,
Their puniest flower-pot-nursling dares

To open a bright eye.

And if, on this thy natal morn,

The pole, from which thy name Hath not departed, stands forlorn

Of song and dance and game;


Still from the village-green a vow

Aspires to thee addrest, Wherever peace is on the brow,

Or love within the breast.

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,

The bashful freed from fear,
While rising, like the ocean-tide,

In flows the joyous year.

Hush, feeble lyre! weak words refuse

The service to prolong!
To yon exulting thrush the Muse

Entrusts the imperfect song;
His voice shall chant, in accents clear,

Throughout the live-long day,
Till the first silver star appear,

The sovereignty of May.

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THOUGI many suns have risen and set

Since thou, blithe May, wert born, And Bards, who hailed thee, may forget

Thy gifts, thy beauty scorn;
There are who to a birthday strain

Confine not harp and voice,
But evermore throughout thy reign

Are grateful and rejoice!

Delicious odours ! music sweet,

Too sweet to pass away!
Oh for a deathless song to meet

The soul's desire—a lay
That, when a thousand years are told,

Should praise thee, genial Power ! Through summer heat, autumnal cold,

And winter's dreariest hour.

Earth, sea, thy presence feel—nor less, If yon

ethereal blue With its soft smile the truth

express, The heavens have felt it too. The inmost heart of man if glad

Partakes a livelier cheer; And eyes

that cannot but be sad Let fall a brightened tear.

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