By contemplation's help, not sought in vain,
I seem to have lived my childhood o'er again;
To have renew'd the joys that once were mine,
Without the sin of violating thine;
And while the wings of fancy still are free,
And I can view this mimic show of thee,
Time has but half succeeded in his theft-
Thyself removed, thy power to soothe me left.
THE
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath: it is twice bless'd;
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes.
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown:
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;
But mercy is above this sceptred sway;
HE quality of mercy is not strain'd;
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings;
It is an attribute of God himself;
And earthly power doth then show likest God's,
When mercy seasons justice. Think of this,
That, in the course of justice, none of us
Should see salvation. We do pray for mercy;
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render
The deeds of mercy.
121. A PSALM OF LIFE.
TELL me not, in mournful numbers,
"Life is but an empty dream!"
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
"Dust thou art, to dust returnest,"
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave.
In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!
Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act, act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o'er head!
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
Some forlorn and shipwreck'd brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labour and to wait.
was an old man breaking stones To mend the turnpike way;
He sat him down beside the brook,
And out his bread and cheese he took,
For now it was mid-day.
He leant his back against a post,
His feet the brook ran by;
And there were water-cresses growing,
And pleasant was the water's flowing,
For he was hot and dry.
A soldier with his knapsack on
Came travelling o'er the down;
The sun was strong, and he was tired;
And he of the old man inquired,
"How far to Bristol town?"
"Half an hour's walk for a young man,
By lanes and fields and stiles;
But you the footpath do not know;
And if along the road you go,
Why then 'tis three good miles."
The soldier took his knapsack off,
For he was hot and dry;
And out his bread and cheese he took,
And he sat down beside the brook,
To dine in company.
"Old friend! in faith," the soldier says,
"I envy you almost;
My shoulders have been sorely prest;
And I should like to sit and rest
My back against that post."
The old man laugh'd and moved: "I wish
It were a great arm-chair!
Still, it may help a man at need;
And yet it was a cursed deed
That ever brought it there!
"There's a poor girl lies buried here,
Beneath this very place;
The earth upon her corpse is prest;
This post was driven into her breast,
And a stone is on her face."
The soldier had but just leant back,
And now he half rose up;
"There's sure no harm in dining here,
My friend? and yet, to be sincere,
I should not like to sup."
"God rest her! she is still enough
Who sleeps beneath my feet!
The old man cried: "No harm, I trow,
She ever did herself, though now
She lies where four roads meet.
"I have pass'd by about that hour
When men are not most brave;
It did not make my courage fail;
And I have heard the nightingale
Sing sweetly on her grave.
"I have pass'd by about that hour
When ghosts their freedom have;
But here I saw no ghastly sight;
And quietly the glow-worm's light
Was shining on her grave.
"There's one who like a Christian lies
Beneath the church-tree's shade;
I'd rather go a long mile round,
Than pass at evening through the ground
Wherein that man is laid.
"A decent burial that man had;
The bell was heard to toll;
In silent pomp they laid him down.
But for all the wealth in Bristol town
I would not be with his soul !
"Didst see a house below the hill,
Which the winds and the rains destroy? The man in that farm house did dwell; And I remember it full well
When I was a growing boy.
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