(Bernard Barton)

Which Things are a Shadow

I SAW a stream whose waves were bright
  With mornings dazzling sheen;
But gathering clouds, ere fall of night,
  Had darkend oer the scene:
      How like that tide,
      My spirit sighed,
      This life to me hath been.

The clouds dispersed; the glowing west
  Was bright with closing day;
And oer the rivers peaceful breast
    Shone forth the sunset ray:
      My spirit caught
      The soothing thought,
      This life might pass away.

I saw a tree with ripening fruit
  And shady foliage crownd;
But, ah! the axe was at its root,
  And felld it to the ground:
      Well might that tree
      Recall to me
  The doom my hopes had found.

The fire consumd it; but I saw
  Its smoke ascend on high
A shadowy type, beheld with awe,
  Of that which will not die,
      But from the grave
      Will rise and have
  A refuge in the sky.

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