| |
| NOW Summer finds her perfect prime; | |
| Sweet blows the wind from western calms; | |
| On every bower red roses climb; | |
| The meadows sleep in mingled balms. | |
| Nor stream, nor bank the wayside by, | 5 |
| But lilies float and daisies throng; | |
| Nor space of blue and sunny sky | |
| That is not cleft with soaring song. | |
| O flowery morns, O tuneful eves, | |
| Fly swift! my soul ye cannot fill! | 10 |
| Bring the ripe fruit, the garnered sheaves, | |
| The drifting snows on plain and hill. | |
| Alike, to me, fall frosts and dews; | |
| But Heaven, O Lord, I cannot lose! | |
| |
| Warm hands to-day are clasped in mine; | 15 |
| Fond hearts my mirth or mourning share; | |
| And, over hope’s horizon line, | |
| The future dawns, serenely fair. | |
| Yet still, though fervent vow denies, | |
| I know the rapture will not stay; | 20 |
| Some wind of grief or doubt will rise | |
| And turn my rosy sky to gray. | |
| I shall awake, in rainy morn, | |
| To find my hearth left lone and drear; | |
| Thus, half in sadness, half in scorn, | 25 |
| I let my life burn on as clear | |
| Though friends grow cold or fond love woos; | |
| But Heaven, O Lord, I cannot lose! | |
| |
| In golden hours the angel Peace | |
| Comes down and broods me with her wings: | 30 |
| I gain from sorrow sweet release; | |
| I mate me with divinest things; | |
| When shapes of guilt and gloom arise | |
| And far the radiant angel flees, | |
| My song is lost in mournful sighs, | 35 |
| My wine of triumph left but lees; | |
| In vain for me her pinions shine, | |
| And pure, celestial days begin; | |
| Earth’s passion-flowers I still must twine, | |
| Nor braid one beauteous lily in. | 40 |
| Ah! is it good or ill I choose? | |
| But Heaven, O Lord, I cannot lose! | |
| |
| So wait I. Every day that dies | |
| With flush and fragrance born of June, | |
| I know shall more resplendent rise | 45 |
| Where summer needs nor sun nor moon. | |
| And every bud, on love’s low tree, | |
| Whose mocking crimson flames and falls, | |
| In fullest flower I yet shall see | |
| High-blooming by the jasper walls. | 50 |
| Nay, every sin that dims my days, | |
| And wild regrets that veil the sun, | |
| Shall fade before those dazzling rays, | |
| And my long glory be begun! | |
| Let the years come to bless or bruise: | 55 |
| Thy Heaven, O Lord, I shall not lose! | |
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