A feeble, idiot boy, he stood Where Nature in her beauty grew, And over field and flowering wood Her summer mantle lightly threw.
The scene had met his eye before; The pleasant path he oft had trod; And one who sought in simple lore To teach him things of heaven and God
Had often wandered with him there, And pointed out each lovely spot,— The sunlit cloud — the floweret fair — But still he comprehended not.
For all his soul was void and still, And darkness held his mind in thrall; He recognized no Sovereign Will, Nor saw the hand of God in all.
In Nature's presence now alone He stood, and filled with silent awe, Beheld, before the coming sun, The curtained Night in haste withdraw.
And gazing there with vacant eye, All motionless and mute he waits, When lo! the chariot of the sky Rolls through the morning's crimson gates.
The orient beams with beauteous light — Hath not his soul its radiance caught? His being grasps a new delight; A deep, mysterious change is wrought.
A light is kindled in his breast; A temple-veil at length is riven; And in that hour of strange unrest A thought is born — of God in heaven.
In haste he seeks his tutor's side, For he who “bore in grief a part” Will, in this happy hour of pride, Responsive hail his joy of heart.
The glowing cheek, the flashing eye, The parted lips — not voiceless now — And, caught from that resplendent sky, The marvelous light upon his brow,—
While these, ere yet he speaks, attest The rapture which that thought has given; He lifts his finger toward the east And softly whispers, “God, in Heaven!”
O blessed hour! and happy he To whom, thro patient love‘ twas given To set a fettered spirit free, And wake a hope of God in Heaven
Cookies on Poetry Cove