The lark in heaven, the plover on the lea, Stray into silence, as the star that stills All labor, with her silvern lamp fulfils Her kindly task, and men from toil are free. Now gorgeous clouds like Tyrian tapestry Engird the sun, whose light upon them thrills Richer and fairer as he leaves their halls, Till all the glory vanishes; and lo! INVISIBLE, unspeakable, whose voice In the soft murmur of this neighboring sea, From the beginning everlastingly Is thy own witness, energize my choice: Even now, by more than half the allotted span Wisely assigned, the unreturning years In timorous doubts and all too scrupulous fears Have dwindled sore my little term of man. Must it be ever thus? even to the end Swathed in a cloud, the little moon, new- Shall I my spirit's patrimony spend? Steals timidly around the starry walls, Until the first cool herald breeze shall blow Arise, O God! this hour and make me strong: Let me this hour to fruitful usury lend One talent in the napkin buried long. Spectator. |