Is shouting its sweet voice hoarse,
And sin is only the soul's mistake
In misdirecting its force.
And love, the fairest of all fair things
That ever to man descended,
Grows rank with nettles and poisonous things
Unless it is watched and tended.

There could not be anything better than this
Old world in the way it began;
And though some matters have gone amiss
From the great original plan,
And however dark the skies may appear,
And however souls may blunder,
I tell you it all will work out clear,
For good lies over and under.



A WOMAN'S LOVE



So vast the tide of love within me surging,
It overflows like some stupendous sea,
The confines of the Present and To-be;
And 'gainst the Past's high wall I feel it urging,
As it would cry, "Thou, too, shalt yield to me!"

All other loves my supreme love embodies;