Classic Poem

WHAT strain was that,
Soft as the falling dew,
Which sang but now at my heart's open door?
Came it from earth?
Or, rather, from some Cherub had it birth?

Of Spring its burden was,
Spring, green and glad;
Sweet remnant left of happy Eden days:
Next of the Summer-tide;
Of Autumn next; and then of Winter sere;—
Weaving a web of praise all through the livelong year!
For lovely are the Seasons in their turn
(So went the song)—
Lovely, and speak Thy love,
O Thou, who all hast made.
Lovely the Spring,
When forth she trips upon the dewy lawn,
With hope and joy irradiant in her smile;
And, warbling as she goes,
Scatters, with liberal hand,
Treasures of Paradise on all around.
And lovely thou,
O Summer, jasmine-crown'd!
Blossom of Spring!
Who out of Spring dost bud
Into an odorous flower!
Unmark'd the transformation, day by day,
Till, lo! the Spring is gone, and in her place
We see thy jocund face,
Peeping above the shoulders of bright May!
Then would we have thee evermore to stay:
But, lo! with solemn tread
Stalks Autumn, in his robe of many dyes;
And, soon as he his magic wand applies,
Shade after shade,
Nature begins to fade,
And into evanescence goes her way,—
Loveliest of all, perchance, in her decay.
Anon comes Winter, and locks up the door,
Till Spring returns again, to vanish as before!
These are Thy works, O Lord;
By Angel-hands.
Divinely minister'd to this our globe;—
Thy works in silence wrought
(In silence all great things
Do evermore proceed);
And still, while earth shall stand,
There stands Thy promise sure,
That seed-time, harvest, cold and heat,
Sunshine and rain, shall evermore endure,
For man to sow his glebe, and reap his grain secure.
O gracious love! that no abatement knows,
But to unjust and just unceasing mercy shows!

And many are the joys beside,
Which in their turn belong
(So went the song)
To all the several Seasons as they glide;
God with His goodness garlanding the year,
And with all-bounteous art
Setting the one against the other part,
That so no time may be
From grateful praises free.
Thus, lest in Winter it should grieve the mind
To see the wreck that Summer leaves behind,
Lo! then the Saviour's birth comes round,
To deck with second Spring the ground.
And lest in Spring we should too much rejoice,
And make this earth the Eden of our choice,
Lo! then Mount Calvary
And its dread Cross are present to the eye:
Almost we hear Him groan, and see Him die!
While in each Season, did we but attend,
We might perceive the warning of a friend;
Each as an Oracle, O Lord, of Thine,
Reminding us, in turn, of truths divine:—
Autumn, of life's decay;
Winter, of death's still tomb;
Spring, of the Resurrection Day;
Summer, of Heaven's own bloom!