Sacred Poems By the Late Right Hon. Sir Robert Grant |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. | VI.
THE BROOKLET. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
 | Sacred Poems |  |
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VI. THE BROOKLET.
1
Sweet brooklet, ever gliding,Now high the mountain riding,
The lone vale now dividing,
Whither away?
“With pilgrim course I flow,
“Or in summer's scorching glow,
“Or o'er moonless wastes of snow,
“Nor stop nor stay;
“For O, by high behest,
“To a bright abode of rest
“In my parent Ocean's breast
“I hasten away!”
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2
Many a dark morass,Many a craggy mass,
Thy feeble force must pass;
Yet, yet delay!
“Tho' the marsh be dire and deep,
“Tho' the crag be stern and steep,
“On, on, my course must sweep,
“I may not stay;
“For O, be it east or west,
“To a home of glorious rest
“In the bright sea's boundless breast,
“I hasten away!”
3
The warbling bowers beside thee,The laughing flowers that hide thee
With soft accord they chide thee,
Sweet brooklet, stay!
“I taste of the fragrant flowers,
“I respond to the warbling bowers,
“And sweetly they charm the hours
“Of my winding way;
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“Of that everlasting rest,
“In my parent's boundless breast,
“I hasten away!”
4
Know'st thou that dread abyss?Is it a scene of bliss?
Ah, rather cling to this,
Sweet brooklet, stay!
“O who shall fitly tell
“What wonders there may dwell?—
“That world of mystery well
“Might strike dismay;
“But I know 'tis my parent's breast,—
“There held, I must needs be blest;
“And with joy to that promised rest
“I hasten away!”
| Sacred Poems | |