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OF THE BRIGHT THINGS IN EARTH AND AIR. 251

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In vain with dull and tuneless ear,

I linger by soft Music's cell,
And in my heart of hearts would hear

What to her own she deigns to tell.
'T is misty all, both sight and sound-

I only know't is fair and sweet-
'T is wandering on enchanted ground

With dizzy brow and tottering feet.
But patience! there may come a time

When these dull ears shall scan aright
Strains, that outring Earth's drowsy chime,

As heaven outshines the taper's light.
These
eyes,

that dazzled now and weak,
At glancing motes in sunshine wink,
Shall see the King's* full glory break,

Nor from the blissful vision shrink:
In fearless love and hope uncloy'd

For ever on that ocean bright
Empower'd to gaze; and undestroy'd,

Deeper and deeper plunge in light.
Though scarcely now their laggard glance

Reach to an arrow's flight, that day
They shall behold, and not in trance,

The region "very far away."
If Memory sometimes at our spell

Refuse to speak, or speak amiss,
We shall not need her where we dwell

Ever in sight of all our bliss.

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• “Thine eyes shall see the King in his beauty: they shall behold the land that is very far off."--Isaiau, xxxj. 17.

252 DEAR IS THE MORNING GALE OF SPRING.

Meanwhile, if over sea or sky

Some tender lights unnoticed fleet,
Or on loved features dawn and die,

Unread, to us, their lessons sweet;
Yet are there saddening sights around, 45

Which Heaven, in mercy, spares us too,
And we see far in holy ground,

If duly purged our mental view.
The distant landscape draws not nigh
For all our gazing; but the soul,

50 That upward looks, may still descry

Nearer each day, the brightening goal.
And thou, too curious ear, that fain

Wouldst thread the maze of Harmony,
Content thee with one simple strain,

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The lowlier, sure, the worthier thee;
Till thou art duly train'd, and taught

The concord sweet of love divine:
Then, with that inward Music fraught,
For ever rise, and sing, and shine.

60 KEBLE.

DEAR IS THE MORNING GALE OF SPRING.

DEAR is the morning gale of Spring,

And dear the autumnal eve;
But few delights can Summer bring

A Poet's crown to weave.
Her bowers are mute, her fountains dry,

And ever Fancy's wing
Speeds from beneath her cloudless sky,
To Autumn or to Spring.

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Sweet is the infant's waking smile,

And sweet the old man's rest
But middle age by no fond wile,

No soothing calm, is blest.
Still in the world's hot restless gleam

She plies her weary task,
While vainly for some pleasant dream

Her wandering glances ask.-
O shame upon thee, listless heart,

So sad a sigh to heave,
As if thy SAVIOUR had no part

In thoughts, that make thee grieve.
As if along His lonesome way

He had not borne for thee
Sad languors through the summer day,

Storms on the wintry sea.
Youth's lightning-flash of joy secure

Pass'd seldom o’er His spright,-
A well of serious thought and pure,

Too deep for earthly light.
No spring was His—no fairy gleam-

For He by trial knew
How cold and bare what mortals dream,

To worlds where all is true.
Then grudge not thou the anguish keen

Which makes thee like thy LORD,
And learn to quit with eye serene

Thy youth's ideal hoard.
Thy treasured hopes and raptures high-

Unmurmuring let them go,

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Nor grieve the bliss should quickly fly
Which CHRIST disdain'd to know.

40 Thou shalt have joy in sadness soon;

The pure, calm hope be thine,
Which brightens, like the eastern moon,

As day's wild lights decline.
Thus souls by nature pitch'd too high,

45 By sufferings plunged too low, Meet in the Church's middle sky,

Half way 'twixt joy and woe, To practise there the soothing lay That sorrow best relieves:

50 Thankful for all God takes away, Humbled by all He gives.

KEBLE.

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MORNING.
Hues of the rich unfolding morn,
That, ere the glorious sun be born,
By some soft touch invisible
Around his path are taught to swell ;-
Thou rustling breeze so fresh and gay,
That dancest forth at opening day,
And brushing by with joyous wing,
Wakenest each little leaf to sing ;-
Ye fragrant clouds of dewy steam,
By which deep grove and tangled stream
Pay, for soft rains in season given,
Their tribute to the genial heaven ;-
Why waste your treasures of delight
Upon our thankless, joyless sight;

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Who day by day to sin awake,
Seldom of heaven and you partake ?
0! timely happy, timely wise,
Hearts that with rising morn arise !
Eyes that the beam celestial view,
Which evermore makes all things new!
New every morning is the love
Our wakening and uprising prove;
Through sleep and darkness safely brought,
Restored to life, and power, and thought.
New mercies, each returning day,
Hover around us while we pray;
New perils past, new sins forgiven,
New thoughts of God, new hopes of heaven.
If on our daily course our mind
Be set to hallow all we find,
New treasures still, of countless price,
God will provide for sacrifice.
Old friends, old scenes, will lovelier be,
As more of heaven in each we see:
Some softening gleam of love and prayer
Shall dawn on every cross and care.
As for some dear familiar strain
Untired we ask, and ask again,
Ever, in its melodious store,
Finding a spell unheard before;
Such is the bliss of souls serene,
When they have sworn, and steadfast mean,
Counting the cost, in all to espy
Their God, in all themselves deny.
0, could we learn that sacrifice,
What lights would all around us rise !

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