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Sin is with man at morning break,
And through the live-long day Deafens the ear that fain would wake To Nature's simple lay.
But when eve's silent foot-fall steals
And one by one to earth reveals
When one by one each human sound
Dies on the awful ear,
Then Nature's voice no more is drown'd, She speaks and we must hear.
pours she on the Christian heart
That warning still and deep,
At which high spirits of old would start Even from their Pagan sleep,
Just guessing, through their murky blind, Few, faint, and baffling sight,
Streaks of a brighter heaven behind,
A cloudless depth of light.
Such thoughts, the wreck of Paradise,
Through many a dreary age,
Upbore whate'er of good and wise
They mark'd what agonizing throes Shook the great mother's womb; But Reason's spells might not disclose The gracious birth to come;
Nor could th' enchantress Hope forecast
The travail pangs of Earth must last
The hour that saw from opening heaven
Beyond the summer hues of even,
Thenceforth, to eyes of high desire,
As with a seraph's robe of fire
Invested, burn and glow :
The rod of heaven has touch'd them all,
"Rise, shine, and sing, thou captive thrall ; "Are not thy fetters broken?
"The God who hallow'd thee and blest,
Pronouncing thee all good
"Hath He not all thy wrongs redrest, "And all thy bliss renew'd?
"Why mourn'st thou still as one bereft, "Now that th' eternal Son
"His blessed home in heaven hath left "To make thee all his own?"
Thou mourn'st because Sin lingers still
Stain our immortal birth:
Because, as Love and Prayer grow cold,
And worldlings blot the temple's gold
Hence all thy groans and travail pains,
Hence, till thy God return,
In wisdom's ear thy blithest strains,
FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.
And Simon answering said unto Him, Master, we have toiled all the night, and have taken nothing: nevertheless, at thy word I will let down the net : and when they had this done, they inclosed a great multitude of fishes, and their net brake. St. Luke v. 5.
THE livelong night we've toiled in vain,
"But at thy gracious word
"I will let down the net again :—
"Do thou thy will, O Lord!"
So spake the weary fisher, spent
Yet on his Master's bidding bent
So day by day and week by week,
In sad and weary thought,
They muse, whom God hath set to seek
For not upon a tranquil lake
Our pleasant task we ply,
Where all along our glistening wake
Where rippling wave and dashing oar
Sweet thoughts of peace, ye may not last:
Calls us from where ye soar so fast
For wildest storms our ocean sweep :-
Might hold and oft the thankless deep
Turns all our toil to loss.