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I commence By trying to inform you, whence It comes that every Easter-night As now, I sit up, watch, till light, Upon those chimney-stacks and roofs, Give, through my window-pane, gray proofs That Easter-Day is breaking slow. On such a night, three years ago, It chanced that I had cause to cross The common, where the chapel was, Our friend spoke of, the other day-- You 've not forgotten, I dare say. I fell to musing of the time So close, the blessed matin-prime All hearts leap up at, in some guise-- One could not well do otherwise. Insensibly my thoughts were bent Toward the main point; I overwent Much the same ground of reasoning As you and I just now. One thing Remained, however--one that tasked My soul to answer; and I asked, Fairly and frankly, what might be That History, that Faith, to me --Me there--not me in some domain Built up and peopled by my brain, Weighing its merits as one weighs Mere theories for blame or praise, --The kingcraft of the Lucumons, Or Fourier's scheme, its pros and cons,-- But my faith there, or none at all. "How were my case, now, did I fall Dead here, this minute--should I lie Faithful or faithless?" Note that I Inclined thus ever!--little prone For instance, when I lay alone In childhood, to go calm to sleep And leave a closet where might keep His watch perdue some murderer Waiting till twelve o'clock to stir, As good authentic legends tell: "He might: but how improbable! How little likely to deserve The pains and trial to the nerve Of thrusting head into the dark!"-- Urged my old nurse, and bade me mark Beside, that, should the dreadful scout Really lie hid there, and leap out At first turn of the rusty key, Mine were small gain that she could see, Killed not in bed but on the floor, And losing one night's sleep the more. I tell you, I would always burst The door ope, know my fate at first. This time, indeed, the closet penned No such assassin: but a friend Rather, peeped out to guard me, fit For counsel, Common Sense, to wit, Who said a good deal that might pass,-- Heartening, impartial too, it was, Judge else: "For, soberly now,--who Should be a Christian if not you?" (Hear how he smoothed me down.) "One takes A whole life, sees what course it makes Mainly, and not by fits and starts-- In spite of stoppage which imparts Fresh value to the general speed. A life, with none, would fly indeed: Your progressing is slower--right! We deal with progress and not flight. Through baffling senses passionate, Fancies as restless,--with a freight Of knowledge cumbersome enough To sink your ship when waves grow rough, Though meant for ballast in the hold,-- I find, 'mid dangers manifold, The good bark answers to the helm Where faith sits, easier to o'erwhelm Than some stout peasant's heavenly guide, Whose hard head could not, if it tried, Conceive a doubt, nor understand How senses hornier than his hand Should 'tice the Christian off his guard. More happy! But shall we award Less honor to the hull which, dogged By storms, a mere wreck, waterlogged, Masts by the board, her bulwarks gone And stanchions going, yet bears on,-- Than to mere lifeboats, built to save, And triumph o'er the breaking wave? Make perfect your good ship as these, And what were her performances!" I added--"Would the ship reach home! I wish indeed 'God's kingdom come'-- The day when I shall see appear His bidding, as my duty, clear From doubt! And it shall dawn, that day, Some future season; Easter may Prove, not impossibly, the time-- Yes, that were striking--fates would chime So aptly! Easter-morn, to bring The Judgment!--deeper in the spring Than now, however, when there 's snow Capping the hills; for earth must show All signs of meaning to pursue Her tasks as she was wont to do --The skylark, taken by surprise As we ourselves, shall recognize Sudden the end. For suddenly It comes; the dreadfulness must be In that; all warrants the belief-- 'At night it cometh like a thief.' I fancy why the trumpet blows; --Plainly, to wake one. From repose We shall start up, at last awake From life, that insane dream we take For waking now, because it seems. And as, when now we wake from dreams, We laugh, while we recall them, 'Fool, To let the chance slip, linger cool When such adventure offered! Just A bridge to cross, a dwarf to thrust Aside, a wicked mage to stab-- And, lo ye, I had kissed Queen Mab!' So shall we marvel why we grudged Our labor here, and idly judged Of heaven, we might have gained, but lose! Lose? Talk of loss, and I refuse To plead at all! You speak no worse Nor better than my ancient nurse When she would tell me in my youth I well deserved that shapes uncouth Frighted and teased me in my sleep: Why could I not in memory keep Her precept for the evil's cure? 'Pinch your own arm, boy, and be sure You 'll wake forthwith!'"