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 Then Nature's voice no more is drown'd, Then 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 Yet lived in bard or sage: They mark'd what agonizing throes But Reason's spells might not disclose Nor could th' enchantress Hope forecast God's secret love and power; The travail pangs of Earth must last Till her appointed hour; 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, The word from heaven is spoken ; "Rise, shine, and sing, thou captive thrall; "Are not thy fetters broken? "The God who hallow'd thee and blest, 66 Pronouncing thee all good “Hath He not all thy wrongs redrest, "And all thy bliss renew'd? 66 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. 66 THE livelong night we've toiled in vain, "But at thy gracious word "I will let down the net again :— 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 |