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• The Churches were lamps to my simple youth,
• Each with its flame of celestial truth:
• Among the Churches I linger still,
• Seeking the keys of good & ill.

• I revere this holy place,
• Adorned with awful glory
• here my soul essays to trace
• The endless golden story
• Of the world & of my heart.—
• 10How I shall enact my part
• On life's stage I study here,
• To the music loud & clear.

• All before me minister
• Priests in garments shining;
• All within me fancies stir
• Starry wreaths entwining—
• Gorgeous dream & flaming thought
• From mysterious heaven sought.
• Sure am I of grand intent,
• 20For immortal I am meant.

• All the sorrows of old earth
• On the window painted—
• At my breast a newer birth,
• Sorrow ever sainted:
• From above calm angels look
• With instruments & open book—
• Books & music every day
• Make life's journey fresh & gay.

• The Churches were lamps to my simple youth,
• 30Each with its flame of celestial truth.
• Among the Churches I linger still
• Seeking the keys of good & ill.

• Religion was made for grief alone.
• Now where shall gladness f[ind] her throne?

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• The Church is happy: I, a child
• Of woe-bewildered earth,
• Love much this morning sweet & mild
• After the days of mirth.
• The days of mirth are holy too,
page: [3]  
• The world is clear & gay.
• Who can deny that paradise
• Is with us still in May?

• I love the anthems soft & proud,
• 10Prayers true as true can be,
• But not this man that talks so loud:
• What can he preach to me?
• I will beguile the tedious time
• With the picture sad & fair:
• The lofty Christ, so nobly pure,
• Will tell me stories rare.

• Oh! Jesus, once at break of day
• The faithful Mary came.
• “Why weepest thou?” the Angels say;
• 20And Jesus said the same.
• The lofty sadness asks this hour:
• “Oh! English woman, why
• Weepest thou oft within thy heart?
• Why daily dost thou sigh?”

• Oh! Jesus, I had once a friend,*
• Who seemed an Angel bright.

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Transcribed Note (page [3]):
Note: * Rationalism
page: [4]  
• I thought our love would never end,
• So full of rich delight.
• But now my friend is dull & cold,
• 30False & unlovely too;
• And hard it is to bear the change
• From perfect to untrue.

• Christ Jesus! I had once a love,*
• Whose hair was made of gold;
• With eyes all blue as heaven above,
• And all of heavenly mould.
• But now this love is dead to me,
• He never more can rise:
• And hard it is to look alone
• 40Upon the summer skies.

• Still every sabbath day I try
• To purify my heart,
• And make it like a melody,
• The wonderful in art.
• So thus I am a happy child,
• Altho' I often weep:
• And on the earth confused with woe
• I innocently sleep.

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