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camille.
111
In humble uses;—fragrance-folding seeds
   Must so through flowers expand,
Then die:—God witness that I blest the Hand
Which laid upon my heart such golden needs!

And yet I felt through all the blind, sweet ways
Of life, for some clear shape its dreams to blend;
Some thread of holy art to knit the days
Each unto each, and all to some fair end,
   Which through unmarked removes,
Should draw me upward, even as it behooves
One whose deep spring-tides from His heart descend.

To swell some vast refrain beyond the sun,
The very weed breathed music from its sod:
And Night and Day in ceaseless antiphon,
Rolled off through windless arches in the broad
   Abyss.—Thou saw'st I too
Would in my place have blent accord as true,
And justified this great enshrining, God!