 | The poetical works of Lucy Larcom |  |
LOOKING DOWN.
Dear World, looking down from the highest of heights that my feet can attain,
I see not the smoke of your cities, the dust of your highway and plain;
Over all your dull moors and morasses a veil the blue atmosphere folds,
And you might be made wholly of mountains, for aught that my vision beholds.
I see not the smoke of your cities, the dust of your highway and plain;
Over all your dull moors and morasses a veil the blue atmosphere folds,
And you might be made wholly of mountains, for aught that my vision beholds.
Dear World, I look down and am grateful that so we all sometimes may stand
Above our own every-day level, and know that our nature is grand
In its possible glory of climbing; in the hill-tops that beckon and bend
So close over every mortal, he scarcely can choose but ascend.
Above our own every-day level, and know that our nature is grand
In its possible glory of climbing; in the hill-tops that beckon and bend
So close over every mortal, he scarcely can choose but ascend.
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Dear World, on the peak we miss something,—the sweet multitudinous sound
Of leaves in the forest a-flutter, of rivulets lisping around;
The smell of wild pastures in blossom, of fresh earth upturned by the plough;—
But the fields and the woods led us hither; half-way they are following now!
Of leaves in the forest a-flutter, of rivulets lisping around;
The smell of wild pastures in blossom, of fresh earth upturned by the plough;—
But the fields and the woods led us hither; half-way they are following now!
One world—there is no separation—the same earth above and below;
Up here is the river's cloud-cradle, down there is its fullness and flow.
My voice joins the voice of your millions who upward in weariness grope,
And the hills bear the burden to heaven,—humanity's anguish and hope!
Up here is the river's cloud-cradle, down there is its fullness and flow.
My voice joins the voice of your millions who upward in weariness grope,
And the hills bear the burden to heaven,—humanity's anguish and hope!
Dear World, lying quiet and lovely, in a shimmer of gossamer haze,
Beneath the soft films of your mantle I can feel your heart beat, as I gaze.
I know you by what you aspire to; by the look that on no face can be,
Save in moments of high consecration: you are showing your true self to me.
Beneath the soft films of your mantle I can feel your heart beat, as I gaze.
I know you by what you aspire to; by the look that on no face can be,
Save in moments of high consecration: you are showing your true self to me.
Dear World, I behold but your largeness; I forget that aught evil or mean
Ever marred the vast sphere of your beauty, over which as a lover I lean.
And not by our flaws will God judge us; His love keeps our noblest in sight:
Dear World, our low life sinks behind us; we look up to His infinite height!
Ever marred the vast sphere of your beauty, over which as a lover I lean.
And not by our flaws will God judge us; His love keeps our noblest in sight:
Dear World, our low life sinks behind us; we look up to His infinite height!
| The poetical works of Lucy Larcom | |