In memory of a happy day in February

 

Når ein sit i stova si og ser ut på dei finaste februardagane, får ein nesten lyst til å skrive like intenst metafysiske dikt som Anne Brontë. Ho var den yngste av dei berømte brontësystrene; fødd i 1820, og døydde berre 29 år gamal. Her kjem hennar «In memory of a happy day in February»:

Blessed be Thou for all the joy
My soul has felt today!
O let its memory stay with me
And never pass away!

I was alone, for those I loved
Were far away from me,
The sun shone on the withered grass,
The wind blew fresh and free.

Was it the smile of early spring
That made my bosom glow? «Twas sweet, but neither sun nor wind
Could raise my spirit so.

Was it some feeling of delight,
All vague and undefined?
No, «twas a rapture deep and strong,
Expanding in the mind!

Was it a sanguine view of life
And all its transient bliss ­
A hope of bright prosperity?
O no, it was not this!

It was a glimpse of truth divine
Unto my spirit given
Illumined by a ray of light
That shone direct from heaven!

I felt there was a God on high
By whom all things were made.
I saw His wisdom and his power
In all his works displayed.

But most throughout the moral world
I saw his glory shine;
I saw His wisdom infinite,
His mercy all divine.

Deep secrets of his providence
In darkness long concealed
Unto the vision of my soul
Were graciously revealed.

But while I wondered and adored
His wisdom so divine,
I did not tremble at his power,
I felt that God was mine.

I knew that my Redeemer lived,
I did not fear to die;
Full sure that I should rise again
To immortality.

I longed to view that bliss divine
Which eye hath never seen,
Like Moses, I would see His face
Without the veil between.

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