808

But early, yet, for God—Creation—impotent to help—But Prayer—remained—Our Side—How excellent the Heaven—When Earth—cannot be had—How hospitable—then—the faceOf our Old Neighbor—God—

No Power can untieTo stretch a little furtherA Skein of Misery—The Earth lays back these tired livesIn her mysterious Drawers—Too tenderly, that any doubtAn ultimate Repose—The manner of the Children—Who weary of the Day—Themself—the noisy PlaythingThey cannot put away—

Though in another tree—She looks down just as oftenAnd just as tenderlyAs when her little mortal nestWith cunning care she wove—If either of her ‘sparrows fall,’She ‘notices,’ above.

Tell him I only said the syntax,And left the verb and the pronoun out.Tell him just how the fingers hurriedThen how they waded, slow, slow, slow-And then you wished you had eyes in your pages,So you could see what moved them so.‘Tell him it wasn’t a practised writer,You guessed, from the way the sentence toiled;You…

The thoughtful grave encloses—Tenderly tucking them in from frostBefore their feet are cold.Never the treasures in her nestThe cautious grave exposes,Building where schoolboy dare not look,And sportsman is not bold.This covert have all the childrenEarly aged, and often cold,Sparrow, unnoticed by the Father—Lambs for whom time had not a fold.

To Us—Gigantic Sum—A trifle—in his own esteem—But magnified—by Fame—Until it burst the HeartsThat fancied they could hold—When swift it slipped its limit—And on the Heavens—unrolled—‘Tis Ours—to wince—and weep—And wonder—and decayBy Blossoms gradual process—He chose—Maturity—And quickening—as we sowed—Just obviated Bud—And when We turned to note the Growth—Broke—perfect—from the Pod—