342 CONSOLATIONS OF SOLITUDE
And shall I fear his wisdom is perplexed,
Since of his acts I cannot learn the next ?
He made all for some end — his love divine
Knows best for what ; it is no care of mine.
Enough, I'll trust, and laugh at thee, whose power,
O universal foe ! must have its hour.
And cease. How weak, whom mortals deem so strong !
Awhile thou shalt o'erwhelm, yet nothing long ;
Thy work began ten billion years ago.
But earth more fair with every age doth grow ;
Scarce canst thou sweep yon frail bridge from on high,
Upon whose arch 'tis writ, life shall not die,
But God, in storm-clouds veiled, rebuilds it in the sky.
��THE SPRING MORNING OF A BEREAVED MAN.
Merry swallow, that wast twittering half the night beneath my
eaves. And art thou come again, old friend, to greet the opening
leaves ? How gladly would I welcome thee, sweet harbinger of spring, That tellest me my garden flowers again are blossoming ! Last year thy song delighted — it is nothing to me now ; My fiowers are out of mind, and no welcome guest art thou, For all things now seem saddest that were sweetest to mc
then ; Fair swallow, fiy away and seek the roofs of happier men ! Let friends that ne'er were parted, let the joyous welcome
thee — O fly away, fly quickly, with thy chattering company !
The morning breeze blows freshly, bearing music on its wing ; But the voice is hushed to silence that was wont for me to sing.
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