Three Seasons

My breast was as a briary brake
I lacked the rake and shears to trim;
Or like a deep, weed-tangl'd lake,
Where man can neither wade nor swim
So full of various discontent
At things I had not height to span,
Nor breadth nor depth to comprehend,
It seemed as though creation's end
Were but enigma, and God's plan
One knotted, hard entanglement.

Oh! glad the morning light we greet.
That shows the pathway newly found;
And grateful to the oaring feet
The touch, at last, of solid ground.
A breath: behold in clearer air.
The path surmounts the mountain sides;
A touch: the knots asunder fall;
And from the smooth uncoiling ball,
With easy play the shuttle glides
To weave the robe the righteous wear.

Ah me! for such a robe unfit,
How shall I let my face be shown,
Or venture at the feet to sit
Of them that sit around the Throne?
He who upon the darken'd eyes
Has breathed, and touched the chords within,
Will order all aright. Till then.
Here let me, in the ways of men,
Walk meekly; and essay to win
The righteous joy this life supplies.