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In Memory Of A Happy Day In February

Blessed be Thou for all the

My soul has felt to-day!

Oh, let its memory stay with me,

And never pass away!

I was alone, for those I

Were far away from me;

The sun shone on the withered grass,

The wind blew fresh and free.

Was it the smile of early

That made my bosom glow?'Twas sweet; but neither sun nor

Could cheer my spirit so.

Was it some feeling of

All vague and undefined?

No; 'twas a rapture deep and strong,

Expanding in the mind.

Was it a sanguine view of life,

And all its transient bliss,

A hope of bright prosperity?

Oh, no! it was not this.

It was a glimpse of truth

Unto my spirit given,

Illumined by a ray of

That shone direct from heaven.

I felt there was a God on high,

By whom all things were made;

I saw His wisdom and His

In all his works displayed.

But most throughout the moral world,

I saw his glory shine;

I saw His wisdom infinite,

His mercy all divine.

Deep secrets of His providence,

In darkness long concealed,

Unto the vision of my

Were graciously revealed.

But while I wondered and

His Majesty divine,

I did not tremble at His power:

I felt that God was mine;

I knew that my Redeemer lived;

I did not fear to die;

Full sure that I should rise

To immortality.

I longed to view that bliss divine,

Which eye hath never seen;

Like Moses,

I would see His

Without the veil between.

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Anne Bronte

Anne Brontë (17 January 1820 – 28 May 1849) was an English novelist and poet, the youngest member of the Brontë literary family.

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