It had rained in the night; but the morning's birth <br />Was as calm and still as even; <br />The heralds of day were awake in their mirth, <br />For the sun in his glory was coming to earth, <br />And the mists had gone to heaven. <br />The winds were asleep; so soft was the weather, <br />Since the storm had spent its might, <br />Not an angel of morning had lifted a feather, <br />Or whispered a word for hours together, <br />Or breathed a 'Farewell!' to night. <br /> <br /> <br />The fields were green, <br />And the world was clean; <br />The young smokes curled in air, <br />And the clear-toned bell <br />Swung merrily to tell <br />The students' hour of prayer. <br />The elm's yellow leaf, that the frost had dyed, <br />Caught the yellower sun as he came in pride <br />Down the church's spire and the chapel's side. <br /> <br /> <br />As learning's pale and dark-robed throng <br />Moved on to morning's prayer and song, <br />One of the train, who walked alone, <br />One, to the rest but little known, <br />Whose way of worship was his own, <br />Moved tardily, till by degrees <br />He stopped among the glittering trees <br />While the rest in the chapel assembled. <br />For the diamond drops of the mist hung there, <br />All meltingly strung on the stiff, straight hair, <br />Of the shrubbery larch. The sun's flash came <br />And wrapped the bush all at once in flame; <br />Yet its glorious locks never trembled. <br />Not Horeb's bush, to Moses' eye, <br />Wa fuller of the deity. <br />The worshipper gazed:-'t was a glorious sight! <br />As the pageant blazed with its rainbow light, <br />He was bowing his heart adoringly. <br />From the bush, that in silence and purity burned, <br />To commune with the Spirit that filled it he learned, <br />And from earth I saw that his eyes were turned, <br />And lifted to heaven imploringly. <br /> <br />Oct. 2d, 1818<br /><br />John Pierpont<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sunday-morning-at-cambridge/
