« 前へ次へ »
And sometimes it is even so!
The spirit ripens in the germ; The new-seald fountains overflow,
The bright wings tremble in the worm. The soul detects some passing token,
Some emblem of a brighter world, And, with its shell of clay unbroken, Its shining pinions are unfurld,
And, like a blessed dream, Phantoms, apparell’d from the sky,
Athwart its vision gleam As if the light of Heaven had touched its gifted eye.
'Tis strange how childhood's simple words
Interpret Nature's mystic book-
As if its spirit fed.
How lightly it were led
ON THE PICTURE OF A “ CHILD TIRED OF PLAY."
Tired of play! Tired of play!
Playing ? But what hast thou done beside
Whom hast thou pitied, and whom forgiven?
There will come an eve to a longer day, That will find thee tired—but not of play! And thou wilt lean, as thou leanest now, With drooping limbs and an aching brow, And wish the shadows would faster creep, And long to go to thy quiet sleep. Well were it then if thine aching brow Were as free from sin and shame as now! Well for thee, if thy lip could tell A tale like this, of a day spent well. If thine open hand hath reliev'd distressIf thy pity hath sprung to wretchednessIf thou hast forgiven the sore offence, And humbled thy heart with penitenceIf Nature's voices have spoken to thee With their holy meanings eloquently,
If every creature hath won thy love,
“ Idleness is sweet and sacred."
WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR.
“ When you have found a day to be idle, be idle for a day. “When you have met with three caps to drink, drink your three cups."
The rain is playing its soft pleasant tune