A Scrap for the Season
For things to sorrow long. Philosophy,Whose ken is clear, does prove us this. Still night,
Which sits, so frequent weeping that the eyeOf twilight should neglect her, - scorns to sigh,
So soon as wooers throng her lighted courts.How smilingly she decks her with her wreath
Of stars, to win new suitors! What gay thoughts,She whispers softly with her balmy breath,
To such as praise her! And what merry airs,Fall sweet on those whom she delights to charm.
Long grief weighs not with her. Old jealous cares,That wring betimes such dropping tears, soon calm
In pleasant joy notes; and each new-born raySalutes her, as in misty robes, she hies
To greet with dewy lip young peering day,Before she sinks to dreaming.
See the skies,
At this mild April time, how they rejoice!And all the streams that were so dull, but now
How cheerfully they course with rippling voice,And laugh along their borders! Every bough
Now lifts itself to catch the sun's warm glance!The tiny insects, and the chirping birds,
Join matin songs! the earth, from her dull trance,Wakes smilingly! with joy, the pent up herds
Drink in the breeze! the young, peeping grass blades,And the early plants, each other jostle
In their new attire! while from 'neath cool shades,All noiselessly, bright creatures dart, and bustle
In the sunny tide! Cheerfulness is spreadO'er everything. With merry tones alone,
The tale is told, of life and beauty fled,Of blighted growth, and dreary winter gone.
'Tis even so with us. When ills come down,
And veil us in dull grief, - we bow to earthWith fainting hearts; we weep and groan
O'er disappointed hopes; or mourn the dearthOf broken fortunes, and divided loves.
But soon the soul its upward bearing proves.Though lowly press'd, sufficiency we find
Within ourselves; a something, that doth calmOur poignant woes. 'Tis in the subtle mind; -
In thoughts that range, that soar, expand and warmIn holy light; or those that quiet seek
Attentive spirits. For it is arrang'dBy Him who keeps us, that the heart, though bleak,
And wasted sore by winds that kill; estrang'dBy poverty, or scathed by wrong, should see
A light in nature and in fellowship,That makes it bright and hopeful. Gay, and free
From outward grief, society doth keepSad thoughts away. Where'er we troubled turn,
Men laugh together; so that though to weepWe be inclined, we soon grow pleas'd, soon learn
What great resources for relief and joyDwell in the buoyant soul.
New York, April 11th, 1841.