IX.

Three worlds there are:—the first of Sense— That sensuous earth which round us lies; The next of Faith's Intelligence; The third of Glory, in the skies.

The first is palpable, but base; The second heavenly, but obscure; The third is star-like in the face— But ah! remote that world as pure!

Yet, glancing through our misty clime, Some sparkles from that loftier sphere Make way to earth;—then most what time The annual spring-flowers re-appear.

Amid the coarser needs of earth All shapes of brightness, what are they But wanderers, exiled from their birth, Or pledges of a happier day?

Yea, what is Beauty, judged aright, But some surpassing, transient gleam; Some smile from heaven, in waves of light, Rippling o'er life's distempered dream?

Or broken memories of that bliss Which rushed through first-born Nature's blood When He who ever was, and is, Looked down, and saw that all was good?