And yet the practice worldlings call Business and weighty action all, Checking the poor child for his play, But gravely cast themselves away. Dear, harmless age! the short, swift span Where weeping virtue parts with man; Where love without lust dwells, and bends What way we please without self-ends. An age of mysteries! which he Must live twice that would God's face see; Which angels guard, and with it play, Angels! which foul men drive away. How do I study now, and scan Thee more than ere I studied man, And only see through a long night Thy edges and thy bordering light! Oh for thy centre and mid-day! For sure that is the narrow way! ABEL'S BLOOD. Sad, purple well! whose bubbling eye Did first against a murderer cry; Whose streams, still vocal, still complain Of bloody Cain; And now at evening are as red As in the morning when first shed. If single thou, Though single voices are but low, Couldst such a shrill and long cry rear As speaks still in thy Maker's ear, What thunders shall those men arraign Who cannot count those they have slain, Who bathe not in a shallow flood, But in a deep, wide sea of blood-- A sea whose loud waves cannot sleep, But deep still calleth upon deep; Whose urgent sound, like unto that Of many waters, beateth at The everlasting doors above, Where souls behind the altar move, And with one strong, incessant cry Inquire 'How long?' of the Most High? Almighty Judge! At whose just laws no just men grudge; Whose blessed, sweet commands do pour Comforts and joys and hopes each hour On those that keep them; oh, accept Of his vowed heart, whom thou hast kept From bloody men! and grant I may That sworn memorial duly pay To thy bright arm, which was my light And leader through thick death and night! Aye may that flood, That proudly spilt and despised blood, Speechless and calm as infants sleep! Or if it watch, forgive and weep For those that spilt it! May no cries From the low earth to high heaven rise, But what, like his whose blood peace brings, Shall, when they rise, speak better things Than Abel's doth! May Abel be Still single heard, while these agree With his mild blood in voice and will, Who prayed for those that did him kill! RIGHTEOUSNESS. 1 Fair, solitary path! whose blessed shades The old, white prophets planted first and dressed; Leaving for us, whose goodness quickly fades, A shelter all the way, and bowers to rest; 2 Who is the man that walks in thee? who loves Heaven's secret solitude, those fair abodes, Where turtles build, and careless sparrows move, Without to-morrow's evils and future loads? 3 Who hath the upright heart, the single eye, The clean, pure hand, which never meddled pitch? Who sees invisibles, and doth comply With hidden treasures that make truly rich?