'O
RY life,' we cry, ' O dreary life ! 'And still the generations of the
Sing through our sighing, and the flocks and
Serenely live while we are keeping
With Heaven's true purpose in us, as a
Against which we may struggle !
Ocean
Unslackened the dry land,
Unweary sweep, hills watch unworn, and
Meek leaves drop year]y from the
To show, above, the unwasted stars that
In their old glory:
O thou God of old,
Grant me some smaller grace than comes to these !—But so much patience as a blade of
Grows by, contented through the heat and cold.
