Page:Poems Sigourney 1827.pdf/179

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Little being of a day, Glowing in thy cell alone, Shedding light with mystic ray On thy path, and on my own.

Dost thou whisper to my heart?— "Though I grovel in the sod, Still I mock man's boasted art    With the workmanship of God."

See! the fire-fly in his flight Scorning thy terrene career,— He, the eccentric meteor bright, Thou, the planet of thy sphere.

Why, within thy cavern damp, Thus with trembling haste dost cower? Fear'st thou I would quench thy lamp,— Lustre of thy lonely bower?—

No!—Regain thy couch of clay, Sparkle brightly as before,— Man should dread to take away Gifts he never can restore.

 

Bless me, kind friend!—who canst thou wish to see? Thus climbing onward with untiring labor, A deal of friendship thou must have for me, To take such wondrous pains, obliging neighbour, 