The Stream

'Twas Sabbath morn. I lay 'neath pensive spell, And saw, in reverie or waking dream, My life elapse, in likeness of a stream That in a slant and steady torrent fell, As if it gushed beneath the force supreme Of some high reservoir or lofty well. E'en such a stream I saw as, from a bank Verdant with mosses and perpetual dank, I have observed leap forth when heavy rains Have, through the uplands filtered, fed earth's veins To bursting. This I saw with troubled eye, Anticipating when the stream no more In ceaseless, crystalline cascade should pour, But sudden stop, or slowly dribble dry.