Corruption
SURE it was so. Man in those early daysWas not all stone and earth;He shined a little, and by those weak raysHad some glimpse of his birth.He saw heaven o’er his head, and knew from whenceHe came, condemned, hither;And, as first-love draws strongest, so from henceHis mind sure progressed thither.Things here were strange unto him; sweat and till;All was a thorn or weed;Nor did those last, but—like himself—died stillAs soon as they did seed;They seemed to quarrel with him; for that act,That fell him, foiled them all;He drew the curse upon the world, and crackedThe whole frame with his fall.This made him long for home, as loth to stayWith murmurers and foes;He sighed for Eden, and would often say,‘Ah! what bright days were those!’Nor was heaven cold unto him; for each dayThe valley or the mountainAfforded visits, and still Paradise layIn some green shade or fountain.Angels lay leiger here; each bush, and cell,Each oak and highway knew them:Walk but the fields, or sit down at some well,And he was sure to view them.Almighty Love! where art Thou now? mad manSits down and freezeth on;He raves, and swears to stir nor fire, nor fan,But bids the thread be spun.I see Thy curtains are close-drawn; Thy bowLooks dim, too, in the cloud;Sin triumphs still, and man is sunk belowThe centre, and his shroud.All’s in deep sleep and night: thick darkness liesAnd hatcheth o’er Thy people—But hark! what trumpet’s that? what angel cries‘Arise! thrust in Thy sickle’?