Corruption
Sure
it
was
so.
Man
in
those
early
days
Was
not
all
stone
and
earth;
He
shined
a
little,
and
by
those
weak
rays
Had
some
glimpse
of
his
birth.
He
saw
Heaven
o'er
his
head,
and
knew
from
whence
He
came,
condemned
hither;
And,
as
first
love
draws
strongest,
so
from
hence
His
mind
sure
progressed
thither.
Things
here
were
strange
unto
him:
sweat
and
till,
All
was
a
thorn
or
weed:
Nor
did
those
last,
but
—
like
himself
—
died
still
As
soon
as
they
did
seed.
They
seemed
to
quarrel
with
him,
for
that
act
That
felled
him
foiled
them
all:
He
drew
the
curse
upon
the
world,
and
cracked
The
whole
frame
with
his
fall.
This
made
him
long
for
home,
as
loth
to
stay
With
murmurers
and
foes;
He
sighed
for
Eden,
and
would
often
say,
"Ah!
what
bright
days
were
those!"
Nor
was
Heaven
cold
unto
him;
for
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.
Almighty
Love!
where
art
Thou
now?
Mad
man
Sits
down
and
freezeth
on;
HE
raves,
and
swears
to
stir
nor
fire,
nor
fan,
But
bids
the
thread
be
spun.
I
see,
Thy
curtains
are
close-drawn;
Thy
bow
Sin
triumphs
still,
and
man
is
sunk
below
The
center,
and
his
shroud.
All's
in
deep
sleep
and
night:
thick
darkness
lies
And
hatcheth
o'er
Thy
people
—
But
hark!
what
trumpet's
that?
what
angel
cries,
"Arise!
thrust
in
Thy
sickle"?
