188
sonnets.
THE SAME.
'Twas then we said, thrice happy in our earth,
That when ripe summer in the cornfield stirred,
And brought its mother instinct to the bird,
Silent within the boughs,—there should go forth
An unsuspected power of good, to girth
The world with more enduring beauty, since
Two lives should then grow one, for furtherance
Before all things, of ends of godlike worth.
Now . . I know not. . . God's way is scarcely clear;
Perbaps earth could not clasp so great a gobd'
And heaven takes up the trust . . still, work is here,
And something dearer in the springing sod
Than was of old, when all was very dear—
And so once more, but more alone with God.
That when ripe summer in the cornfield stirred,
And brought its mother instinct to the bird,
Silent within the boughs,—there should go forth
An unsuspected power of good, to girth
The world with more enduring beauty, since
Two lives should then grow one, for furtherance
Before all things, of ends of godlike worth.
Now . . I know not. . . God's way is scarcely clear;
Perbaps earth could not clasp so great a gobd'
And heaven takes up the trust . . still, work is here,
And something dearer in the springing sod
Than was of old, when all was very dear—
And so once more, but more alone with God.
