ARE these the tracks of some unearthly Friend, His foot-prints, and his vesture-skirts of light, Who, as I talk with men, conforms aright Their sympathetic words, or deeds that blend With my hid thought; -- or stoops him to attend My doubtful-pleading grief; -- or blunts the might Of ill I see not; -- or in dreams of night Figures the scope, in which what is will end? Were I Christ's own, then fitly might I call That vision real; for to the thoughtful mind That walks with Him, He half unveils His face; But, when on earth-stain'd souls such tokens fall, These dare not claim as theirs what there they find, Yet. not all hopeless, eye His boundless grace. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WOMAN'S INCONSTANCY by ROBERT AYTON THE MAIDEN QUEEN: SONG by JOHN DRYDEN ULTIMA THULE: NIGHT by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW MADONNA OF THE EVENING FLOWERS by AMY LOWELL SEADRIFT by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH MY MOTHER by FLORENCE R. ANDREWS THE RIVER STOUR by WILLIAM BARNES |