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TO * *.
191
        Then saw we how this hour
That we had chidden with, this mortal life,
That broke its faith with us, had not the power
To keep it better; weariness and strife
So marred its gentler purpose; yet comprest
Among its thick-set thorns, because the air
Did breathe about it all too chill and rare,
Our Past had held our Future, like a Rose
That may not yet its perfect soul disclose,
Lest angry winds should scatter and molest;
So shut within this narrow bud, its woes
Were but the crumpled leaves too closely prest;
And all its loveliness did but enclose
The germ of after beauty, now a Guest,
But soon to be a Dweller!

But soon to be a Dweller! So we stood,
While gradual to our feet the shadows fell;
We looked abroad, and all was very good;
On all within was written, "It is well;"
For things that were and would be met and kissed
Each other in the heart, that like a child
For loss of each bright joy that it had missed,
Was by a loving promise reconciled!