THE NUN'S ASPIRATION

The yesterday doth never smile,

The day goes drudging through the while,

Yet, in the name of Godhead, I

The morrow front, and can defy;

Though I am weak, yet God, when prayed,

Cannot withhold his conquering aid.

Ah me! it was my childhood's thought,

If He should make my web a blot

On life's fair picture of delight,

My heart's content would find it right.

But O, these waves and leaves,—

When happy stoic Nature grieves,

No human speech so beautiful

As their murmurs mine to lull.

On this altar God hath built

I lay my vanity and guilt;

Nor me can Hope or Passion urge

Hearing as now the lofty dirge

Which blasts of Northern mountains hymn,

Nature's funeral high and dim,—

Sable pageantry of clouds,

Mourning summer laid in shrouds.

Many a day shall dawn and die,

Many an angel wander by,

And passing, light my sunken turf

Moist perhaps by ocean surf,

Forgotten amid splendid tombs,

Yet wreathed and hid by summer blooms.

On earth I dream;— I die to be:

Time, shake not thy bald head at me.

I challenge thee to hurry past

Or for my turn to fly too fast.

Think me not numbed or halt with age,

Or cares that earth to earth engage,

Caught with love's cord of twisted beams,

Or mired by climate's gross extremes.

I tire of shams, I rush to be:

I pass with yonder comet free,—

Pass with the comet into space

Which mocks thy aeons to embrace;

Aeons which tardily unfold

Realm beyond realm,— extent untold;

No early morn, no evening late,—

Realms self-upheld, disdaining Fate,

Whose shining sons, too great for fame,

Never heard thy weary name;

Nor lives the tragic bard to say

How drear the part I held in one,

How lame the other limped away.