The Retreat

Happy those early days, when I

Shin'd in my Angel-infancy!

Before I understood this place

Appointed for my second race,

Or taught my soul to fancy aught

But a white celestial thought:

When yet I had not walk'd above

A mile or two from my first Love,

And looking back—at that short space—

Could see a glimpse of His bright face:

When on some gilded cloud, or flow'r,

My gazing soul would dwell an hour,

And in those weaker glories spy

Some shadows of eternity:

Before I taught my tongue to wound

My Conscience with a sinful sound,

Or had the black art to dispense

A several sin to ev'ry sense,

But felt through all this fleshly dress

Bright shoots of everlastingness.

O how I long to travel back,

And tread again that ancient track!

That I might once more reach that plain

Where first I left my glorious train;

From whence th' enlighten'd spirit sees

That shady City of Palm-trees.

But ah! my soul with too much stay

Is drunk, and staggers in the way!