We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind;
In the primal sympathy

Which having been must ever be;
In the soothing thoughts that spring
Out of human suffering;

In the faith that looks through death,
In years that bring the philosophic mind.

XI.

And oh, ye fountains, meadows, hills, and groves,
Forebode not any severing of our loves!
Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might;
I only have relinquished one delight

To live beneath your more habitual sway.

I love the brooks which down their channels fret, Even more than when I tripped lightly as they ; The innocent brightness of a new-born day

Is lovely yet;

The clouds that gather round the setting sun
Do take a sober colouring from an eye

That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality;

Another race hath been, and other palms are won.
Thanks to the human heart by which we live,
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys and fears,
To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
WORDSWORTH.

BOOK III.

DEATH AND IMMORTALITY.

Death and Immortality.

THEY

THE WORLD OF LIGHT.

HEY are all gone into the world of light,
And I alone sit lingering here;

Their very memory is fair and bright
And my sad thoughts doth clear.

It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast
Like stars upon some gloomy grove,

Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest
After the sun's remove.

I see them walking in an air of glory,

Whose light doth trample on my days-
My days, which are at best but dull and hoary,
Mere glimmering and decays.

O holy hope and high humility!
High as the heavens above!

These are your walks, and you have showed them me
To kindle my cold love.

Dear, beauteous death! the jewel of the just!
Shining nowhere but in the dark;
What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust,

Could man outlook that mark!

He that hath found some fledged bird's nest may know, At first sight, if the bird be flown;

But what fair well or grove he sings in now,

That is to him unknown.

And yet, as angels in some brighter dreams
Call to the soul when man doth sleep,

So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes,
And into glory peep.

If a star were confined into a tomb,

Her captive flames must needs burn there:

But, when the hand that locked her up gives room, She'll shine through all the sphere.

O Father of eternal life, and all

Created glories under Thee!

Resume thy spirit from this world of thrall

Into true liberty!

Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill
My perspective still as they pass;

Or else remove me hence unto that hill

Where I shall need no glass.

HENRY VAUGHAN.