At Hooker's Tomb

The grey-eyed Morn was sadden'd with a shower,
A silent shower, that trickled down so still,
Scarce droop'd beneath its weight the tenderest flower,
Scarce could you trace it on the twinkling rill,
Or moss stone bathed in dew. It was an hour
Most meet for prayer beside thy lowly grave,
Most for thanksgiving meet, thaTheaven such power
To thy serene and humble spirit gave.
" Who sow good seed with tears shall reap in joy. "
So thought I as I watch'd the gracious rain,
And deem'd it like that silent sad employ
Whence sprung thy glory's harvest, to remain
For ever. God hath sworn to lift on high
Who sinks himself by true humility.
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