The Inward Morning

Packed in my mind lie all the clothes   Which outward nature wears,

And in its fashion's hourly change   It all things else repairs.

In vain I look for change abroad,   And can no difference find,

Till some new ray of peace uncalled   Illumes my inmost mind.

What is it gilds the trees and clouds,   And paints the heavens so gay,

But yonder fast-abiding light   With its unchanging ray?

Lo, when the sun streams through the wood,   Upon a winter's morn,

Where'er his silent beams intrude,   The murky night is gone.

How could the patient pine have known   The morning breeze would come,

Or humble flowers anticipate   The insect's noonday hum— Till the new light with morning cheer   From far streamed through the aisles,

And nimbly told the forest trees   For many stretching miles?

I've heard within my inmost soul   Such cheerful morning news,

In the horizon of my mind   Have seen such orient hues,

As in the twilight of the dawn,   When the first birds awake,

Are heard within some silent wood,   Where they the small twigs break,

Or in the eastern skies are seen,   Before the sun appears,

The harbingers of summer heats   Which from afar he bears.