To all the world mine eyes are blind:
Their drop serene is--night,
With stores of snow piled up the wind
An awful airy height.
And yet 'tis but a mote in the eye:
The simple faithful stars
Beyond are shining, careless high,
Nor heed our storms and jars.
And when o'er storm and jar I climb--
Beyond life's atmosphere,
- shall behold the lord of time And space--of world and year.
Oh vain, far quest!--not thus my heart
Shall ever find its goal!
- turn me home--and there thou art, My Father, in my soul!
SONGS OF THE SPRING DAYS.