Every vassal of his banner, All those wronged and wretched creatures, By his hand were freed again. And, as on the sacred missal And the monk replied, "Amen!" Many centuries have been numbered But the good deed, through the ages RAIN IN SUMMER. How beautiful is the rain! How beautiful is the rain! How it clatters along the roofs, How it gushes and struggles out From the throat of the overflowing spout! Across the window pane It pours and pours; And swift and wide, With a muddy tide, Like a river down the gutter roars The rain, the welcome rain! The sick man from his chamber looks At the twisted brooks; He can feel the cool Breath of each little pool; His fevered brain Grows calm again, And he breathes a blessing on the rain. From the neighboring school Come the boys, With more than their wonted noise And commotion; And down the wet streets Sail their mimic fleets, Till the treacherous pool And turbulent ocean. In the country, on every side, Where far and wide, Like a leopard's tawny and spotted hide, To the dry grass and the drier grain In the furrowed land The toilsome and patient oxen stand; They silently inhale The clover-scented gale, And the vapors that arise From the well-watered and smoking soil; For this rest in the furrow after toil Their large and lustrous eyes Seem to thank the Lord, More than man's spoken word. Near at hand, From under the sheltering trees, The farmer sees His pastures, and his fields of grain, As they bend their tops To the numberless beating drops Of the incessant rain. He counts it as no sin That he sees therein Only his own thrift and gain. These, and far more than these, He can behold Aquarius old Walking the fenceless fields of air; And from each ample fold Of the clouds about him rolled Scattering everywhere The showery rain, As the farmer scatters his grain. He can behold Things manifold That have not yet been wholly told, Have not been wholly sung nor said. Thus the Seer, With vision clear, Sees forms appear and disappear, Mysterious change From birth to death, from death to birth, From earth to heaven, from heaven to earth; Till glimpses more sublime Of things, unseen before, Unto his wondering eyes reveal The Universe, as an immeasurable wheel In the rapid and rushing river of Time. THE BRIDGE. I STOOD on the bridge at midnight, And the moon rose o'er the city, I saw her bright reflection And far in the hazy distance Among the long, black rafters The wavering shadows lay, And the current that came from the ocean Seemed to lift and bear them away; As, sweeping and eddying through them, And, streaming into the moonlight, The seaweed floated wide. And like those waters rushing How often, O, how often, In the days that had gone by, How often, O, how often, I had wished that the ebbing tide Would bear me away on its bosom O'er the ocean wild and wide! |