The Waterfall
With what deep murmurs through
time's silent stealth
Doth thy transparent, cool, and watery
wealth
Here flowing fall,
And chide, and
call,
As if his liquid, loose retinue stayed
Lingering, and were of this steep place
afraid;
The common pass
Where, clear as
glass,
All must descend
Not to an end,
But quickened by this deep and rocky grave,
Rise to a longer course more bright
and brave.
Dear stream! dear bank, where
often I
Have sat and pleased my
pensive eye,
Why, since each drop of thy
quick store
Runs thither whence it flowed
before,
Should poor souls fear a shade
or night,
Who came,
sure, from a sea of light?
Or since those drops are all
sent back
So sure to thee, that none
doth lack,
Why should frail flesh doubt
any more
That what God takes, He'll not
restore?
O useful element and clear!
My sacred wash and cleanser
here,
My first consigner unto those
Fountains of
life where the Lamb goes!
What sublime truths and
wholesome themes
Lodge in thy mystical deep
streams!
Such as dull man can never
find
Unless that Spirit lead his
mind
Which first
upon thy face did move,
And hatched
all with his quickening love.
As this loud brook's incessant
fall
In streaming rings restagnates
all,
Which reach by course the
bank, and then
Are no more seen, just so pass
men.
O my invisible estate,
My glorious liberty, still
late!
Thou art the channel my soul
seeks,
Not this with cataracts and
creeks.
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