John Clare: The Midsummer Cushion :: :: University of Virginia Library

All nature owns in glory
The Lord & power of all
With everlasting story
& never ceasing call
The great “I am” emblazoned
Is seen of every eye
On natures humblest blossom
On thunders grandest sky

Man nature all upbraids him
Who stands in terror bye
She lauds the God that made him
Her sounds are “glorify”
Hark how the tempest sounding
Wings music through the air
& clouds like whales are bounding
To own his presence there

The sun whose splendid glory
Shamed darkness into flight
& told morns noble story
From whence he borrowed light
& now in gloomy splendours
God bids the tempests lour
How meekly he surrenders
To a superior power

All natures shining splendour
Withdraws her light awhile
Right willing to surrender
Her light till God shall smile
The earth the sky the ocean
Sun moon & stars & all
Pay natures grand devotion
& own their makers call

The woods are like a[n] ocean
All moving at his breath
Praise spreads the wild commotion
Around above beneath

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The mighty oak is bending
In worship to his power
& in submission blending
Soft trembles every flower

Morns sky in dappled livery
A sea of happy isles
Heard thunders noble reverie
& now no longer smiles
The sky has lost its glory
The clouds their hues resign
& storms in splendid story
Owns god is all divine

Hark how the tempest groaning
Extolls his majesty
& echo gladly owning
In worship makes reply
More proud & yet more proudly
The tempest dares along
More loud & yet more loudly
The thunder wakes his song

A song of mighty praises
To him who reigns alone
Whose power all nature raises
In unison as one
The mountains burning crater
The valleys crowded sod
The forrests leafy nature
Are all the voice of God

Man hears & heedeth nothing
Man sees & turns aside
His thoughts such interests loathing
Are bound to scorn & pride
All else of Gods adornings
Great small & weak & strong
Attend to natures warnings
& thousands greet her song

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THE CALM

Beneath my feet the very dust
Up with the wirlwinds summonds flies
To tell the doubting & the just
That even dust shall greet the skys
Beside my path the flowers & grass
In trembling joy their praises pay
Yet unobserving man goes bye
Nor gleans a lesson in his way

Though nature breaths in quiet moods
& wooes the heart in gentle ways
A sterner power with time intrudes
Shall waken all to fear & praise
When death shall rise on every eye
& blend his voice with every call
When all but natures debt shall die
& man the debtor pay for all

That day shall come & mighty storms
Each year its coming typifyes
Yet what are thunders dread alarms
To that shall bid the dead to rise
The wind the water fire & all
As actors in that dreadful play
Make ready in their parts to fall
Rehearsing portions every day

Yet man ordained in every scene
To act the first & chiefest part
Neglects to feel the part he's in
Nor gets a single page by heart
Although the stage be worlds destroyed
The curtains torn unpillared skyes
The actor man by God employed
To do his part of smiles or sighs
Life everlastingly enjoyed
Or pains unceasing sacrifice
—& I by idle things employed
Dread what the finale typifyes

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THE SUMMER SHOWER

I love it well oercanopied in leaves
Of crowding woods to spend a quiet hour
& where the woodbine weaves
To list the summer shower

Brought by the south west wind that balm & bland
Breaths luscious coolness loved & felt by all
While on the uplifted hand
The rain drops gently fall

Now quickening on & on the pattering woods
Recieves the coming shower birds trim their wings
& in a joyful mood
The little woodchat sings

& blackbird squatting on her mortared nest
Safe hid in ivy & the pathless wood
Pruneth her sooty breast
& warms her downy brood

& little Pettichap like hurrying mouse
Keeps nimbling near my arbour round & round
Aye theres her oven house
Built nearly on the ground

Of woodbents withered straws & moss & leaves
& lined with downy feathers saftys joy
Dwells with the home she weaves
Nor fears the pilfering boy

The busy falling rain increases now
& sopping leaves their dripping moisture pour
& from each loaded bough
Fast falls the double shower

Weed climbing hedges banks & meeds unmown
Where rushy fringed brooklet easy curls
Look joyous while the rain
Strings their green suit[with] pearls

While from the crouching corn the weeding troop
Run hastily & huddling in a ring

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Where the old willows stoop
Their ancient ballads sing

& gabble over wonders ceasless tale
Till from the southwest sky showers thicker come
Humming along the vale
& bids them hasten home

With laughing skip they stride the hasty brook
That mutters through the weeds untill it gains
A clear & quiet nook
To greet the dimpling rain

& on they drabble all in mirth not mute
Leaving their footmarks on the elting soil
Where print of sprawling foot
Stirs up a tittering smile

On beautys lips who slipping mid the crowd
Blushes to have her anckle seen so high
Yet inly feeleth proud
That none a fault can spy

Yet rudely followed by the meddling clown
Who passes vulgar gibes—the bashful maid
Lets go her folded gown
& pauses half afraid

To climb the stile before him till the dame
To quarrel half provoked assails the knave
& laughs him into shame
& makes him well behave

Birdnesting boys oertaken in the rain
Beneath the ivied maple bustling run
& wait in anxious pain
Impatient for the sun

& sigh for home yet at the pasture gate
The molehill tossing bull with straining eye
Seemeth their steps to wait
Nor dare they pass him bye

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Till wearied out high over hedge they scrawl
To shun the road & through the wet grass roam
Till wet & draggled all
They fear to venture home

The plough team wet & dripping plashes home
& on the horse the ploughboy lolls along
Yet from the wet grounds come
The loud & merry song

Now neath the leafy arch of dripping bough
That loaded trees form oer the narrow lane
The horse released from plough
Naps the moist grass again

Around their blanket camps the gipseys still
Heedless of showers while black thorns shelter round
Jump oer the pasture hills
In many an idle bound

From dark green clumps among the dripping grain
The lark with sudden impulse starts & sings
& mid the smoaking rain
Quivers her russet wings

A joy inspiring calmness all around
Breaths a refreshing sense of strengthening power
Like that which toil hath found
In sundays leisure hour

When spirits all relaxed heartsick of toil
Seeks out the pleasant woods & shadowy dells
& where the fountain boils
Lye listening distant bells

Amid the yellow furze the rabbits bed
Labour hath hid his tools & oer the heath
Hies to the milking shed
That stands the oak beneath

& there he wiles the pleasant shower away
Filling his mind with store of happy things
Rich crops of corn & hay
& all that plenty brings

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The crampt horison now leans on the ground
Quiet & cool & labours hard employ
Ceases while all around
Falls a refreshing joy