I have found all things thus far, persons and inanimate
matter, elements and seasons, strangely adapted to my resources.
No matter what imprudent haste in my career; I am permitted to be
rash. Gulfs are bridged in a twinkling, as if some unseen
baggage-train carried pontoons for my convenience, and while from
the heights I scan the tempting but unexplored Pacific Ocean of
Futurity, the ship is being carried over the mountains piecemeal
on the backs of mules and lamas, whose keel shall plough its
waves, and bear me to the Indies. Day would not dawn if it were
not for
THE INWARD MORNING
Packed in my mind lie all the clothes
Which outward nature wears,
And in its fashion's hourly change
It all things else repairs.
In vain I look for change abroad,
And can no difference find,
Till some new ray of peace uncalled
Illumes my inmost mind.
What is it gilds the trees and clouds,
And paints the heavens so gay,
But yonder fast-abiding light
With its unchanging ray?
Lo, when the sun streams through the wood,
Upon a winter's morn,
Where'er his silent beams intrude,
The murky night is gone.
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