180 BENNETT'S ODE. 



Up no white star hath the west 



All is morning all is day 

 Earth in trembling light lies blest 



Heaven is sunshine up away ; 

 Up the primrose lights the lane 



Up the boughs with gladness ring 

 Bent are bright-belled flowers again 



Drooped with bees oh soar and sing. 



Ah at last thou beat'st the sun, 



Leaving, low, thy nest of love 

 Higher higher, quivering one, 



Shrill'st thou up and up above ; 

 Wheel on wheel, the whole day through, 



Might I thus with ceaseless wing, 

 Steep on steep of airy blue 



Fling me up, and soar and sing ! 



Spurner of the Earth's annoy, 



Might I thus in heaven be lost ! 

 Like to thee, in gusty joy, 



Oh, might I be tempest-tost ! 

 Oh, that the melodious rain 



Of thy rapture I might fling 

 Down, till Earth should swoon from pain 



Joy to hear me soaring sing ! 



Yet, high wisdom by thee taught, 



Were thy mighty rapture mine, 

 While the highest heaven I sought, 



Nought of earth would I resign ; 

 Lost in circling light above, 



Still my love to Earth should fling 

 All its raptures still to love, 



Caring but to soar and sing. 



