For three and thirty years, a living seed, A lonely germ, dropt on our waste world's side, Thy death and rising thou didst calmly bide; Sore companied by many a clinging weed Sprung from the fallow soil of evil and need; Hither and thither tossed, by friends denied; Pitied of goodness dull, and scorned of pride; Until at length was done the awful deed, And thou didst lie outworn in stony bower Three days asleep--oh, slumber godlike-brief For man of sorrows and acquaint with grief! Life-seed thou diedst, that Death might lose his power, And thou, with rooted stem and shadowy leaf, Rise, of humanity the crimson flower.