| |
| FEVER and fret and aimless stir | |
| And disappointed strife, | |
| All chafing, unsuccessful things, | |
| Make up the sum of life. | |
| |
| Love adds anxiety to toil, | 5 |
| And sameness doubles cares, | |
| While one unbroken chain of work | |
| The flagging temper wears. | |
| |
| The light and air are dulled with smoke: | |
| The streets resound with noise; | 10 |
| And the soul sinks to see its peers | |
| Chasing their joyless joys. | |
| |
| Voices are round me; smiles are near; | |
| Kind welcomes to be had; | |
| And yet my spirit is alone, | 15 |
| Fretful, outworn, and sad. | |
| |
| A weary actor, I would fain | |
| Be quit of my long part; | |
| The burden of unquiet life | |
| Lies heavy on my heart. | 20 |
| |
| Sweet thought of God! now do thy work | |
| As thou hast done before; | |
| Wake up, and tears will wake with thee, | |
| And the dull mood be o’er. | |
| |
| The very thinking of the thought | 25 |
| Without or praise or prayer, | |
| Gives light to know, and life to do, | |
| And marvellous strength to bear. | |
| |
| Oh, there is music in that thought, | |
| Unto a heart unstrung, | 30 |
| Like sweet bells at the evening time, | |
| Most musically rung. | |
| |
| ’T is not his justice or his power, | |
| Beauty or blest abode, | |
| But the mere unexpanded thought | 35 |
| Of the eternal God. | |
| |
| It is not of his wondrous works, | |
| Not even that he is; | |
| Words fail it, but it is a thought | |
| Which by itself is bliss. | 40 |
| |
| Sweet thought, lie closer to my heart! | |
| That I may feel thee near, | |
| As one who for his weapon feels | |
| In some nocturnal fear. | |
| |
| Mostly in hours of gloom thou com’st, | 45 |
| When sadness makes us lowly, | |
| As though thou wert the echo sweet | |
| Of humble melancholy. | |
| |
| I bless thee, Lord, for this kind check | |
| To spirits over free! | 50 |
| More helpless need of thee! | |
| And for all things that make me feel. | |
| |
