O soul, O soul, rejoice! Thou art God's child indeed, for all thy sinning; A trembling child, yet his, and worth the winning With gentle eyes and voice. The words like echoes flow. They are too good; mine I can call them never; Such water drinking once, I should feel ever As I had drunk but now. And yet He said it so; 'Twas He who taught our child-lips to say, Father! Like the poor youth He told of, that did gather His goods to him, and go. Ah! Thou dost lead me, God; But it is dark; no stars; the way is dreary; Almost I sleep, I am so very weary Upon this rough hill-road. _Almost_! Nay, I _do_ sleep. There is no darkness save in this my dreaming; Thy Fatherhood above, around, is beaming; Thy hand my hand doth keep. This torpor one sun-gleam Would break. My soul hath wandered into sleeping; Dream-shades oppress; I call to Thee with weeping, Wake me from this my dream. And as a man doth say, Lo! I do dream, yet trembleth as he dreameth; While dim and dream-like his true history seemeth, Lost in the perished day; (For heavy, heavy night Long hours denies the day) so this dull sorrow Upon my heart, but half believes a morrow Will ever bring thy light. God, art Thou in the room? Come near my bed; oh! draw aside the curtain; A child's heart would say _Father_, were it certain That it did not presume. But if this dreary bond I may not break, help Thou thy helpless sleeper; Resting in Thee, my sleep will sink the deeper, All evil dreams beyond. _Father!_ I dare at length. My childhood, thy gift, all my claim in speaking; Sinful, yet hoping, I to Thee come, seeking Thy tenderness, my strength. THE LOST SOUL. Brothers, look there! What! see ye nothing yet? Knit your eyebrows close, and stare; Send your souls forth in the gaze, As my finger-point is set, Through the thick of the foggy air. Beyond the air, you see the dark; (For the darkness hedges still our ways;) And beyond the dark, oh, lives away! Dim and far down, surely you mark A huge world-heap of withered years Dropt from the boughs of eternity? See ye not something lying there, Shapeless as a dumb despair, Yet a something that spirits can recognise With the vision dwelling in their eyes? It hath the form of a man! As a huge moss-rock in a valley green, When the light to freeze began, Thickening with crystals of dark between, Might look like a sleeping man. What think ye it, brothers? I know it well. I know by your eyes ye see it--tell.