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134

THE NATURE-CHILD.

Too soon, too soon the others
Were startled out of rest,
This child was Nature-mother's,
And long lay in her breast.
Men shall not bind his going,
And he shall dwell alone,
And yet not lonely, knowing
The whole world for his own.
He shall be at peace with flowers,
And know the songs of birds,
And Nature's secret powers,
And tell it all in words.
He shall be warmed with summers,
And fed on gentle rains,
And know for after-comers
Such amplitude remains;

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He shall be in the windless trances
That hold the summer noons,
And range with the star dances,
And wander with the moons;
And he shall walk at even
With the wind along the sea,
And draw the clouds from heaven,
And darken shudderingly,
And lash the dim waves under
To threatening monster forms,
And roar out with the thunder,
And be the soul of storms.
His shall be wandering places
Unwalked of earthly feet,
In the sky's dreamy spaces,
Where light and twilight meet,
And there the shadowy meaning
Of things not clear to sight,
Through twilight intervening
Shall pass up into light.

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And all dumb things shall love him,
And cast aside their fears;
And children's ways shall move him
To laughter and to tears;
And he will hold them dearest
Who best can understand,
Because their lives are nearest
The Nature mother-land.
He shall feel the heart of nations,
And see far things to be,
And pass through revelations
To deeper mystery.
He shall absorb all changes,
Perceiving naught is new,
And these the wider ranges
Of old truths ever true.
He shall know all songs were fashioned
Before the dawn of time,
Which poets, keenly passioned,
Interpret into rhyme.

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He shall learn his lofty duty
To mediate with earth,
And in the womb of beauty
Beget the second birth.
And none shall be too lowly,
Too loveless to recall,
But love make all things holy,
And love be unto all;
And souls that crave for pardon
Shall come to him and find
A heart no sin can harden,
A gentle voice and kind,
A gentle voice of reason
That falls like April rain,
And thaws the winter's treason
For hope to grow again.
He shall not seek for guerdon,
Nor murmur at his years,
Content to bear life's burden,
And reconciled with tears:

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He shall know the highest gladness
Is very near to pain,
That never human sadness
Was wasted or in vain;
He shall learn the mystic union
That is twixt souls and things,
And dwell in that communion,
And fashion words to wings—
To wings that men may borrow,
And follow where he trod,
To the sympathy with sorrow
That is the joy of God.
And Time shall not estrange him
To trustfulness and truth;
The years shall hardly change him,
Nor bear away his youth;
But at the last awaking,
His upward-straining eyes
Shall know the morning breaking
Across familiar skies;

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And he shall wake from sleeping
As gently as at birth,
To fields of fairer reaping
Than any fields of earth.