Alexander Anderson

1845-1909 / Scotland

Oh, Glorious Time!

Oh, glorious time! (my spirit thus must speak).
The incensed breeze from every nook is blown,
And soft, as if a maiden laid her cheek
All blushing in its warmth, against your own.
The very clouds above beseem to me
Like spirits wander'd from a higher day,
Who, seeing all the joy that now I see,
Drop down a tear or two, then glide away.
I hear the lark, in airy distance, pour
His melody, full-throated, clear, and strong,
As if he knew the angels flung the door
Of heaven open to let in his song.
And, nearer at my hand, the streamlet sings
Its little oracles, from which the woods
Know when to don their ample blossomings,
And flush the stillness of their solitudes.
While, like a maiden, who with stolen glance,
Looks fondly on her lover passing by,
So peeps the violet from a quiet trance
Of dreams, the colour of its kmdred sky.
And other flowers, in unobtrusive light,
Issue in many hues into their birth,
Seeming like God's sweet wishes, in the night,
Flung down to all His creatures upon earth.
A gentle murmur creeps through all the bound,
Soft as an angel's footstep, while I stand
Entranced, and listen as at some stray sound
Of music stealing from the better land.
For each thing has a voice in this sweet day,
And Nature, ever watchful, sets the whole
To most delicious sounds that steal away
This mould of clay from the delighted soul.
And so my heart leaps up with joy to keep
Its softest pulses in sweet unison,
For Nature, silent not, throughout her sleep
Breathes forth the sweetest utterance of her own.
She hath this power which, whether from on high,
Or from her own full bosom, breathes to those
Who watch her wonders with a quiet eye
Feelings of ample thought and sweet repose.
So she has touch'd, with all her inmost truth,
Each seeming lifeless, though not breathless thing;
And they round into fresh and radiant youth,
Beaming like Eden in its first sweet spring.
Then come, whoever hath a love for her,
And rest within her arms this glorious day,
And be like me a silent worshipper,
Mighty in feeling, but with nought to say.
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