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The spiritual stir—the strife
Ineffable of soul and sense!
Yet mayst thou live without offence;
And thou, poor Child, in memory
A monument shalt stand to me
(With many a gem and many a flower,
And many a cloudlet of the sky),
Of God's surpassing love and power,
Who, speaking only to the eye,
Can carry with an inward smart
A voiceless meaning; to the heart.
ASPIRATION.
Joy for the promise of our loftier homes!
Joy for the promise of another birth!
For oft oppressive unto pain becomes
The riddle of the earth.
A weary weight it lay upon my youth
Ere I could tell of what I should complain
My very childhood was not free, in truth,
From something of that pain.
