Classic Poem

How smoothly glided then my happy days,
When things to charm my mind and sight were nigh.

The glitt'ring brook, that wander'd round my home,
With rock-shot foam downfalling white, was nigh.

And glossy-winged rooks, above the grove,
Off-sweeping round their tree in flight, were nigh.

And daws above the castle's ragged walls,
And ivy-hooded tower's height, were nigh.

A bower, outhollow'd in a hedge of yew,
Would yield me shelter'd rest, when night was nigh.

And in the dusk of moonshades, near the door,
My playsome children, skipping light, were nigh.

And there I never met a grief half way,
In thinking ev'ry day a blight was nigh.

But found it best, with thankfulness and care,
To feel that He that is our might was nigh.