17. CONTINUAL SERVICES (For the Sunday before Advent.) "Gather up the fragments that remain, that nothing be lost." O ENDLESS round of Nature's wheel, How doth thine untired course reveal The universal spring Of Power and Motion! Not in keen And sudden startings, far between,* But smooth as sea-bird's wing, Gliding unwearied, now in air And now in Ocean, As though Life's only call and care Were graceful motion. Such are your changes, Space and Time, Dying away in softest chime, With gentlest intervals Aye lessening on the ear, and felt As when into each other melt The hues where evening falls. Thus moon to moon gives silent place, Thus or for increase or decay The seasons wind their viewless way, Nor but by word of man Or measure rude by man imposed, Is known when day or year hath closed, Summer or Winter's span. And ever onward as we go, The wide earth rounding, The horizon moves in gentle flow, Not in harsh bounding. For why? the unseen Preserver's law Is nigh, to master and o'erawe The creatures in their race, Else starting each its own wild way. Is free to wait on Grace : And still, as Earth and Time steal on To their dread ending, New fragments may of both be won For holy spending. Thus high may soar the instructed soul, Watching young fingers idly roll The mimic earth, or trace In picture bright of blue and gold Each other circling chase. When plainest strikes the inward ear Then most for our own chant we fear, So harsh and broken. His spheres, recede they or advance, Keep tune and time; nor e'er Fails from this lower world a wreath Of incense, such as sweet flowers breathe, And vernal breezes bear. Only man's frail sin-wearied heart Bears, half in sadness, A wavering, intermitted part In that high gladness.— Yes so it was ere JESUS came. Alternate then His altar-flame Blazed up and died away; And Silence took her turn with Song, That owned the festal day. For in earth's daily circuit then Reflected to the Seraphs' ken Heaven's light and order. But now to the revolving sphere We point, and say, No desert here, No waste so dark and lone, Comes daily in its turn, and lies Each point of time, from morn to eve, The shrine doth from the Spouse receive While on our couch we listless dream, The holy words are uttered, Earth Its awful way, The Infinite To meek hearts bringing. |