The wish, that of the living whole
      No life may fail beyond the grave,
      Derives it not from what we have
The likest God within the soul?

Are God and Nature then at strife,
      That Nature lends such evil dreams?
      So careful of the type she seems,
So careless of the single life;

That I, considering everywhere
      Her secret meaning in her deeds,
      And finding that of fifty seeds
She often brings but one to bear,

I falter where I firmly trod,
      And falling with my weight of cares
      Upon the great world's altar-stairs
That slope thro' darkness up to God,

I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope,
      And gather dust and chaff, and call
      To what I feel is Lord of all,
And faintly trust the larger hope.


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Last modified 11 February 2010