human
I would I were some bird or star, Flutt'ring in woods, or lifted far Above this inn And road of sin! Then either star or bird should be Shining or singing still to thee.
gpt
Peace
human
My soul, there is a country Afar beyond the stars, Where stands a winged sentry All skillful in the wars. There, above noise and danger, Sweet peace sits crown'd with smiles, And one born in a manger Commands the beauteous files. He is thy gracious friend, And (oh, my soul awake!) Did in pure love descend, To die here for thy sake. If thou canst get but thither, There grows the flower of peace, The rose that cannot wither, Thy fortress and thy ease. Leave, then, thy foolish ranges; For none can thee secure, But one, who never changes-- Thy God, thy Life, thy Cure.
gpt
entitled,
human
The Retreat:
gpt
Happy those early days, when I Shin'd in my angel infancy! Before I understood this place, Appointed for my second race, Or taught my soul to fancy aught But a white, celestial thought; When yet I had not walkt above A mile or two from my first love, And looking back, at that short space, Could see a glimpse of his bright face; When on some gilded cloud or flower My gazing soul would dwell an hour, And in those weaker glories spy Some shadows of eternity; Before I taught my tongue to wound My conscience with a sinful sound, Or had the black art to dispense A sev'ral sin to ev'ry sense, But felt through all this fleshly dress Bright shoots of everlastingness. Oh how I long to travel back, And tread again that ancient track! That I might once more reach that plain Where first I left my glorious train; From whence th' enlight'ned spirit sees That shady city of palm-trees. But, ah! my soul with too much stay Is drunk, and staggers in the way! Some men a forward motion love, But I by backward steps would move; And when this dust falls to the urn, In that state I came, return.
human
Each day The valley or the mountain Afforded visits, and still Paradise lay In some green shade or fountain. Angels lay lieger here: each bush and cell, Each oak and highway knew them; Walk but the fields, or sit down at some well, And he was sure to view them.
gpt
The Bird:
human
Hither thou com'st. The busy wind all night Blew through thy lodging, where thy own warm wing Thy pillow was. Many a sullen storm, For which coarse man seems much the fitter born, Rain'd on thy bed And harmless head; And now, as fresh and cheerful as the light, Thy little heart in early hymns doth sing Unto that Providence, whose unseen arm Curb'd them, and cloth'd thee well and warm.
gpt
He that hath found some fledged bird's nest may know At first sight if the bird be flown; But what fair dell or grove he sings in now, That is to him unknown.