Shook sudden from the bosom of the sky, <br />A thousand shapes, or glide athwart the dusk, <br />Or stalk majestic on. Deep-roused, I feel <br />A sacred terror, a severe delight, <br />Creep through my mortal frame; and thus, methinks, <br />A voice, than human more, th' abstracted ear <br />Of fancy strikes: - 'Be not of us afraid, <br />Poor kindred man! thy fellow-creatures, we <br />From the same Parent-power our beings drew, <br />The same our Lord, and laws, and great pursuit. <br />Once, some of us, like thee, through stormy life <br />Toil'd, tempest-beaten, ere we could attain <br />This holy calm, this harmony of mind, <br />Where purity and peace immingle charms. <br />Then fear not us; but with responsive song, <br />Amid these dim recesses, undisturb'd <br />By noisy folly and discordant vice, <br />Of nature sing with us, and nature's God. <br />Here frequent, at the visionary hour, <br />When musing midnight reigns, or silent noon, <br />Angelic harps are in full concert heard, <br />And voices chanting from the wood-crown'd hill, <br />The deepening dale, or inmost sylvan glade: <br />A privilege bestow'd by us alone, <br />On contemplation, or the hallow'd ear <br />Of poet, swelling to seraphic strain.'<br /><br />James Thomson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/noontide-retreat-of-summer-as-a-haunt-for-meditation/
