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A SHEAF GLEANED
Nothing of this deceiving earth,
Nor bonds, nor laws, nor griefs remain;
The soul receives a second birth
And feels no more Imposture's pain.
Like a celestial butterfly,
Its own flower it can blameless choose,
It reasserts its nature high,
And shakes off exile's slime and ooze.
O Night—the sombre and the bright!
In thee I find all, all in sooth,
For thou unitest gloom with light,
And weddest Mystery with Truth.
But peace! The cold winds whistle clear,
The east reveals a streak of grey,
Adieu—adieu, O thoughts sincere,
And welcome lies. Here comes the day!
