Did the wild winds amid the pines
Seem as they brought the tone
Of holy and immortal songs
To angels only known?
Her's must have been a life of dreams,
Exalted and sustained
By that enthusiastic faith
Which such a victory gained.
Yet hold I not such sacrifice
Is for the Christian's creed:
I question of its happiness—
I question of its need.
God never made a world so fair,
To leave that world a void,
Nor scattered blessings o'er our path,
Unless to be enjoyed.
Look round—the vales are sweet with flowers
The woods are sweet with song:
The soul, uplifted with their joy,
Says, such joy is not wrong.
Divine its origin—divine
The faith it keeps alive.
Not with the beautiful and true
Should human nature strive;
Each fine sense gifted with delight,
Was to the spirit given,
That, conscious of a better state,
It might believe in heaven.
Too much this weary world of ours
Has fallen since the fall;
And low desires, and care, and crime,
Hold empire over all.
Yet not the less it is our part
To do the best we can:
A better faith—a better fate
Man yet may work for man.
L. E. L.
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