For other versions of this work, see Records of Passing Thought. XII. The Same.


XI.

THE SAME.

And ye are strong to shelter!—all meek things,
All that need home and covert, love your shade!
Birds of shy song, and low-voiced quiet springs,
And nun-like violets, by the wind betrayed.
Childhood beneath your fresh green tents hath played
With his first primrose-wealth:—there love hath sought
A veiling gloom for his unuttered thought;
And silent grief, of day's keen glare afraid,
A refuge for her tears; and oft-times there
Hath lone devotion found a place of prayer,
A native temple, solemn, hushed, and dim;
For wheresoe'er your murmuring tremors thrill
The woody twilight, there man's heart hath still
Confessed a spirit's breath, and heard a ceaseless hymn.