Stones from The Quarry | ||
A SPRINGTIDE MORNING.
Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of blissComplex, unspeakable;—not only mine,
But that of many; man, bird, flock, herd, kine;
Tame and free livers; to the lark which is
Missioned by earth, glad messenger of peace,
At heaven's dewy gates to sing. Divine
The occasion; decked is Nature like a shrine;
For heaven doth bow itself the earth to kiss,
A kiss of peace! O God, my heart o'erflows;
Full, like a cup of sacramental wine,
With sense of all Thy mercies! The wine glows
And kindles; 'tis all Thine, O God, not mine;
And so I drink, for Thy hand holds it close!
Thyself, as thro' “the burning bush,” dost shine!
Stones from The Quarry | ||