SORROW.

Through the Earth a Spirit goeth

Onward still from morn till night,

Silent as the Time-stream floweth

Out of darkness into light.

And her heart is very tender,

Full of love and kindliness,

Yearning evermore to render

Goodness fuller, error less.

Through the Earth the spirit wendeth,

And full many a little child

With light heart her course attendeth,

By her gentle eyes beguiled;

Turning to her fond embraces,

Playing round her as she goes,

With no shade on their glad faces

Deeper than the budding rose.

A maiden dreaming of her lover

Like a star amid the night,

Felt the spirit bend above her,

In between her and the light;

And she quivered back in terror

From the spirit's offered kiss;

Ah! how often, thus, doth error

Backward fright our souls from bliss!

Then the spirit “Ah! thou dearest,

Wilt thou close thy heart from me?

Through the shadow that thou fearest

Heaven's own light will shine on thee.

“Like the streams that most refresh us

In the desert parch'd and drear,

Sorrow renders love more precious,

Makes the cherish'd one more dear.”

On — the spirit circled gently,

Kindly round a Poet's heart,

Gazing through the veil intently

After life's diviner part;

And the poet bent to meet her,

For he said “The truth will be

Made through Sorrow ever sweeter,

Ever clearer unto me.

“We are blinded by the sunlight

From the heaven's unclouded blue,

But through mist we eye the One-light

Till we read it through and through.”

To the beautiful the Spirit

Open'd wide her loving breast,

Wooed their souls to nestle near it

And from life's excitement rest,

Whispering, “Sleep on Sorrow's bosom,

Dear ones, and your souls will rise

With fresh sweetness on their blossom,

Richer perfume, brighter dyes.”

Most shrunk from her, but some weeping

Yielded to her soft controul;

And whilst on that bosom sleeping

Heaven-dew fell upon each soul.

Young and old fled from her ever

Waving off her proffered grace,

Thwarting each divine endeavour,

Trembling still before her face;

And she said “Ah! ye are blinded,

Seeing not the things that are,

For unto the earnest-minded

Sorrow is life's guiding star;

“Not delusive, not unsparing,

Richer fraught with good than pain,

Unto life sweet blessings bearing

Though she scatter them in rain.”