These things they said, And for a season breathed immortal air, But then perforce returned to earth again: For the air on those first summits is too fine For our long breathing, while we yet have on Our gross investiture of mortal weeds.
Yet not for nothing had their spirits flown To those high regions, bringing back at once A reconcilement with the mean things here, And a more earnest longing for what there Of nobler was by partial glimpses thus Seen through the crannies of the prison house. And she, that mother--such entire content Possessed her bosom, and her Lord had filled The orb of her desires so round and full, Had answered all her prayers for her lost son With such an overmeasure of his grace, She had no more to ask, and did not know Why she should tarry any longer here, Nor what she did on earth. Thus then she felt, And to these thoughts which overflowed her heart Gave thankful utterance meet; nor many days After this vision and foretaste of joy, Inherited the substance of the things Which she had seen, and entered into peace.
How of a sudden Sleep has laid on thee His heavy hand--on thee, for ever blest, Sleeping or waking, stirring or at rest: But now thou wert exulting merrily, And in the very middle of thy glee Thy head thou layedst on thy father’s breast, There seeming to have found a peacefuller nest Than one would think might in this loud world be. There were no need to fear thy worser mood, Striving in years to come against the good He would impart, if thou couldst keep in mind How many times, the while with anxious care He sought to screen thee from the chilling air, Upon his bosom thou hast slept reclined.
Often when my thought has been Pondering on what solemn scene, Which of all the glorious shows Nature can at will disclose, Once beholden by the eye, Ever after would supply Most unto the musing heart Of memories which should not depart-- It has seemed no ampler dower Of her beauty or her power We could win, than night and day, An illimitable way, To sail down some mighty river, Sailing as we would sail for ever.
Lo! my wish is almost won, Broadly flows the stately Rhone, And we loosen from the shore Our light pinnace, long before The young East in gorgeous state Has unlocked his ruby gate, And our voyage is not done At the sinking of the sun; But for us the azure Night Feeds her golden flocks with light: Ours are all the hues of heaven, Sights and sounds of morn and even; In our view the day is born; First the stars of lustre shorn, Until Hesper, he who last Kept his splendour, now fades fast; A faint bloom over heaven is spread, And the clouds blush deeper red, Till from them the stream below Catches the same roseate glow; The pale east lightens into gold, And the west is with the fold Of the mantle of dim night Scarcely darkened or less bright-- Till, his way prepared, at length Rising up in golden strength, Tramples the victorious sun The dying stars out, one by one.