The Retreat

Happy those early days, when I Shined 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 walk'd 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 several sin to every sense, But felt through all this fleshy dress Bright shoots of everlastingness.

O how I long to travel back, And tread again that ancient track! That I once more might reach that plain, Where first I felt my glorious train; From whence th' enlighten'd spirit sees That shady City of Palm-trees! But ah! my soul with too much stay Is drunk, and stuggers 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.