On A Mourner

I. Nature, so far as in her lies, Imitates God, and turns her face To every land beneath the skies, Counts nothing that she meets with base, But lives and loves in every place; II. Fills out the homely quickset-screens, And makes the purple lilac ripe, Steps from her airy hill, and greens The swamp, where hummd the dropping snipe, With moss and braided marish-pipe; III. And on thy heart a finger lays, Saying, Beat quicker, for the time Is pleasant, and the woods and ways Are pleasant, and the beech and lime Put forth and feel a gladder clime. IV. And murmurs of a deeper voice, Going before to some far shrine, Teach that sick heart the stronger choice, Till all thy life one way incline With one wide Will that closes thine. V. And when the zoning eve has died Where yon dark valleys wind forlorn, Come Hope and Memory, spouse and bride, From out the borders of the morn, With that fair child betwixt them born. VI. And when no mortal motion jars The blackness round the tombing sod, Thro silence and the trembling stars Comes Faith from tracts no feet have trod, And Virtue, like a household god VII. Promising empire; such as those Once heard at dead of night to greet Troy's wandering prince, so that he rose With sacrifice, while all the fleet Had rest by stony hills of Crete.