The Inward Morning

Packed in my mind lie all the clothes

  Which outward nature wears,

And in its fashion's hourly change

  It all things else repairs.

In vain I look for change abroad,

  And can no difference find,

Till some new ray of peace uncalled

  Illumes my inmost mind.

What is it gilds the trees and clouds,

  And paints the heavens so gay,

But yonder fast-abiding light

  With its unchanging ray?

Lo, when the sun streams through the wood,

  Upon a winter's morn,

Where'er his silent beams intrude,

  The murky night is gone.

How could the patient pine have known

  The morning breeze would come,

Or humble flowers anticipate

  The insect's noonday hum—

Till the new light with morning cheer

  From far streamed through the aisles,

And nimbly told the forest trees

  For many stretching miles?

I've heard within my inmost soul

  Such cheerful morning news,

In the horizon of my mind

  Have seen such orient hues,

As in the twilight of the dawn,

  When the first birds awake,

Are heard within some silent wood,

  Where they the small twigs break,

Or in the eastern skies are seen,

  Before the sun appears,

The harbingers of summer heats

  Which from afar he bears.