We paused at last—the child began
Again his sullen guide to tease;
"They say you are a learnèd man—
So look, and tell me what are these?"
Aroused with pain, my listless eyes
The various spoils scarce wander o'er;
Than straight they hail a sage's prize
In what seem'd infant toys before:
This herb was one the glorious Swede
Had given a garden's wealth to find;
That stone had harden'd round a weed
The earliest deluge left behind.
Fit stores for science, Discontent
Had pass'd unheeding on the wild;
And Nature had her wonders lent
As things of gladness to the child!
Thus, through the present, Sorrow goes,
And sees its barren self alone;
While healing in the leaflet grows,
And Time blooms back within the stone.
O Thou, so prodigal of good,
Whose wisdom with delight is clad;
How clear should be to Gratitude
The golden duty—to be glad!
ADDRESS TO THE SOUL IN DESPONDENCY.
No, Soul! not in vain thou hast striven,
Unless thou abandon the strife;
Forsworn to the banners of Heaven,
If false in the battle of life.
Why—counting the gain or the loss—
The badge of the temple assume?
March on! if thy sign be the Cross,
Thy triumph must be at the Tomb.