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The Child is Father of the Man; And I could wish my days to be. Bound each to each by natural piety.
There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight,
To me did seem
Apparelled in celestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream. It is not now as it has been of yore;
Turn wheresoe'er I may,
By night or day, The things which I have seen I now can see no more.
The Rainbow comes and goes,
The Moon doth with delight
Waters on a starry night
Are beautiful and fair;
But yet I know, where'er I go,
Now, while the Birds thus sing a joyous song,
As to the tabor's sound,
And I again am strong..
And all the earth is gay;
Land and sea
And with the heart of May
Thou Child of Joy
Ye blessed Creatures, I have heard the call
Ye to each other make; I see
My head hath its coronal,
Oh evil day! if I were sullen .'
This sweet May-morning ;
On every side,
Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm, And the Babe leaps up on his mother's arm :
I hear, I hear, with joy I hear!
But there's a Tree, of many one,
The Pansy at my feet .
Doth the same tale repeat: Whither is fled the visionary gleam ? Where is it now, the glory and the dream?
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting :
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar?
From God, who is our home: