LIII
I looked again upon the earth.
The day rejoicèd in its birth;
And on the sullen rack afar
Trembled the fading morning star!
ASSERTION
TOO late, I drew from scanty springs
The barren cheer that in them lies.
Too late, I fettered eager wings
That longed to bathe in bluer skies.
Too late, I squandered golden hours
God gave me for his praise to spend.
Too late, I gathered idle flowers
Forgetful of my journey’s end.
God needs my deed; however small
The help I lend, to work his will,
Not without grief he sees me fall.
Or fail his purpose to fulfil.
THE APPLE
I PICKED an apple from the ground,
A perfect apple, red and round.
Its spicy perfume shy and sweet,
Stole from the ground beneath my feet,
Borne on a wind that lightly flew,
Through the deep dome of cloudless blue.
A swarm of ants had found the prize,
Before it met my wandering eyes,
And careless in their busy pleasure,
Ran o’er and o’er the fragrant treasure.
I blew them off, nor cared to know
Whither the luckless things might go.
So He who holdeth in his hand
This perfect world on which we stand,
Blows us, ah, whither? with His breath,
Our friends who miss us call it “Death!”