I Lost The Love Of Heaven Above

Still, I Have Been No One's Enemy But My Own. My Easy Nature, Either In Drinking Or Anything Else, Was Always Ready To Submit To Persuasions Of Profligate Companions, Who Often Led Me Into Snares.

The Thorn Tree Just Began To Bud And Greening Stained The Sheltering Hedge, An Many A Violet Beside The Wood Peeped Blue Between The Withered Sedge; The Sun Gleamed Warm The Bank Beside, 'twas Pleasant Wandering Out A While Neath Nestling Bush To Lonely Hide, Or Bend A Musings O'er A Stile.

The Snow Has Left The Cottage Top; The Thatch Moss Grows In Brighter Green; And Eaves In Quick Succession Drop, Where Grinning Icicles Have Been, Pit-patting With A Pleasant Noise In Tubs Set By The Cottage Door; While Duck And Geese, With Happy Joys, Plunge In The Yard Pond Brimming Over. The Sun Peeps Through The Window Pane: Which Children Mark With Laughing Eye, And In The Wet Street Steal Again To Tell Each Other Spring Is Night.

Loud Is The Summer's Busy Song The Smallest Breeze Can Find A Tongue, While Insects Of Each Tiny Size Grow Teasing With Their Melodies, Till Noon Burns With Its Blistering Breath Around, And Day Lies Still As Death.

I Long For Scenes Where Man Has Never Trod;... There To Abide With My Creator, God.