Of friendships, comforts, and sweet charities--
The almoners of the All-Bountiful--
With folded wings stand sadly looking on.
Believe me, Grace, the pioneer of judgment--
Ordained, commissioned--is Ingratitude;
For where it moves, good withers; blessings die;
Till a clean path is left for Providence,
Who never sows a good the second time
Till the torn bosom of the graceless soil
Is ready for the seed.

_Grace_.

Oh, could you know
The anguish of my heart, you would not chide!
If I repine, it is because my lot
Is not the blessed thing it seems to you.
O Mary! Could you know! Could you but know!

_Mary_.

Then why not tell me all? You know me, love.
And know that secrets make their graves with me.

So, tell me all; for I do promise you
Such sympathy as God through suffering
Has given me power to grant to such as you.
I bought it dearly, and its largess waits
The opening of your heart.