| |
| SURE, it was so. Man in those early days | |
| Was not all stone and earth: | |
| He shin’d a little, and by those weak rays | |
| Had some glimpse of his birth. | |
| He saw heaven o’er his head, and knew from whence | 5 |
| He came, condemnèd, thither; | |
| And, as first love draws strongest, so from hence | |
| His mind sure progress’d thither. | |
| Things here were strange unto him; sweat and till; | |
| All was a thorn or weed; | 10 |
| Nor did those last, but—like himself—died still | |
| As soon as they did seed; | |
| They seem’d to quarrel with him; for that act, | |
| They fell him, foil’d them all; | |
| He drew the curse upon the world, and crack’d | 15 |
| The whole frame with his fall. | |
| This made him long for home, as loth to stay | |
| With murmurers and foes; | |
| He sighed for Eden, and would often say | |
| ‘Ah! what bright days were those!’ | 20 |
| Nor was heav’n cold unto him; for each day | |
| The valley or the mountain | |
| Afforded visits, and still Paradise lay | |
| In some green shade or fountain. | |
| Angels lay leiger here; each bush, and cell, | 25 |
| Each oak, and highway knew them; | |
| Walk but the fields, or sit down at some well, | |
| And he was sure to view them. | |
| Almighty Love! where art Thou now? mad man | |
| Sits down and freezeth on; | 30 |
| He raves, and swears to stir nor fire, nor fan, | |
| But bids the thread be spun. | |
| I see, Thy curtains are close-drawn; Thy bow | |
| Looks dim too in the cloud; | |
| Sin triumphs still, and man is sunk below | 35 |
| The centre, and his shroud. | |
| All’s in deep sleep and night: thick darkness lies | |
| And hatcheth o’er Thy people— | |
| But hark! what trumpet’s that? what angel cries | |
| ‘Arise! thrust in Thy sickle?’ | 40 |
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