Corruption

Sure it was so. Man in those early days

Was not all stone and earth;

He shined a little, and by those weak rays

Had some glimpse of his birth.

He saw Heaven o'er his head, and knew from whence

He came, condemned hither;

And, as first love draws strongest, so from hence

His mind sure progressed thither.

Things here were strange unto him: sweat and till,

All was a thorn or weed:

Nor did those last, but — like himself — died still

As soon as they did seed.

They seemed to quarrel with him, for that act

That felled him foiled them all:

He drew the curse upon the world, and cracked

The whole frame with his fall.

This made him long for home, as loth to stay

With murmurers and foes;

He sighed for Eden, and would often say,

"Ah! what bright days were those!"

Nor was Heaven cold unto him; for each day

The valley or the mountain

Afforded visits, and still paradise lay

In some green shade or fountain.

Angels lay lieger here; each bush and cell,

Each oak and highway knew them;

Walk but the fields, or sit down at some well,

And he was sure to view them.

Almighty Love! where art Thou now? Mad man

Sits down and freezeth on;

HE raves, and swears to stir nor fire, nor fan,

But bids the thread be spun.

I see, Thy curtains are close-drawn; Thy bow

Sin triumphs still, and man is sunk below

The center, and his shroud.

All's in deep sleep and night: thick darkness lies

And hatcheth o'er Thy people —

But hark! what trumpet's that? what angel cries,

"Arise! thrust in Thy sickle"?