The slanted columns of the noonday light, Let down into the bosom of the hills, Or sunset, that with golden vapour bright The purple mountains fills--
These made him say,--if God has so arrayed A fading world that quickly passes by, Such rich provision of delight was made For every human eye,
What shall the eyes that wait for him survey, Where his own presence gloriously appears In worlds that were not founded for a day, But for eternal years?
And if at seasons this world’s undelight Oppressed him, or the hollow at its heart, One glance at those enduring mansions bright Made gloomier thoughts depart;
Till many times the sweetness of the thought Of an eternal country--where it lies Removed from care and mortal anguish, brought Sweet tears into his eyes.
Thus, not unsolaced, he longwhile abode, Filling all dreary melancholy time, And empty spaces of the heart with God, And with this hope sublime:
Even thus he lived, with little joy or pain, Drawn thro’ the channels by which men receive-- Most men receive the things which for the main Make them rejoice or grieve.
But for delight--on spiritual gladness fed, And obvious to temptations of like kind; One such, from out his very gladness bred, It was his lot to find.
When first it came, he lightly put it by, But it returned again to him ere long, And ever having got some new ally, And every time more strong--
A little worm that gnawed the life away Of a tall plant, the canker of its root, Or like as when, from some small speck, decay Spreads o’er a beauteous fruit.
For still the doubt came back--can God provide For the large heart of man what shall not pall, Nor thro’ eternal ages’ endless tide On tired spirits fall.
Here but one look tow’rd heavèn will repress The crushing weight of undelightful care; But what were there beyond, if weariness Should ever enter there?
Yet do not sweetest things here soonest cloy? Satiety the life of joy would kill, If sweet with bitter, pleasure with annoy Were not attempered still.
This mood endured, till every act of love, Vigils of praise and prayer, and midnight choir, All shadows of the service done above, And which, while his desire,
And while his hope was heav’nward, he had loved, As helps to disengage him from the chain That fastens unto earth--all these now proved Most burdensome and vain.