The Favor Of The Moment

Once more, then, we meet
 In the circles of yore;
Let our song be as sweet
 In its wreaths as before,
Who claims the first place
 In the tribute of song?
The God to whose grace
 All our pleasures belong.
Though Ceres may spread
 All her gifts on the shrine,
Though the glass may be red
 With the blush of the vine,
What boots--if the while
 Fall no spark on the hearth;
If the heart do not smile
 With the instinct of mirth?--
From the clouds, from God's breast
 Must our happiness fall,
'Mid the blessed, most blest
 Is the moment of all!
Since creation began
 All that mortals have wrought,
All that's godlike in man
 Comes--the flash of a thought!
For ages the stone
 In the quarry may lurk,
An instant alone
 Can suffice to the work;
An impulse give birth
 To the child of the soul,
A glance stamp the worth
 And the fame of the whole.
On the arch that she buildeth
 From sunbeams on high,
As Iris just gildeth,
 And fleets from the sky,
So shineth, so gloometh
 Each gift that is ours;
The lightning illumeth--
 The darkness devours!