Henry Alford (1810–1871)

[See also 1845]

‘Each morn the same sun rises on our day’

EACH morn the same sun rises on our day,

Measuring with every year his usual round;

The merry bells that for our birthdays sound,

And those that knoll us to our homes of clay,

Speak ever with one voice; the skies obey

Spring whispering soft, and summer blossom-crowned,

And autumn flush, and winter icy-bound:

Down Life's smooth channel Ages sleep their way.

The babe that, smiling in her slumber, lies

Lapt in thy breast, hath been there oft before;

This day, this room, hath all been acted o'er;

And even the thought not first in me doth rise;—

Time measures but the course of human will;

'Tis we that move, while Providence is still.

‘There is a bright space in yon rolling cloud’

THERE is a bright space in yon rolling cloud

Betokening the presence of the moon;—

Into the pure sky she will travel soon,

In clearest beauty, free from envious shroud.

Even so to thee, my soul's sweet partner, bowed

With pain severe, the light of hope was shewn;

And thou art now in æther of thine own,

A clear blue space, with perfect calm endowed;

And this young babe, a treasure newly found,

Like some fair star attendant at thy side,

Shall journey on, through ease and peril tried:

To him, whose being in your own is bound,

For blest example and high solace given,—

Heaven at life's end, and life itself a heaven.