Are
God and Nature then at strife,
That Nature lends such evil dreams?
So careful of the type she seems,
So
careless of the single life;
That
I, considering everywhere
Her secret meaning in her deeds,
And finding that of fifty seeds
She
often brings but one to bear,
I
falter where I firmly trod,
And falling with my weight of cares
Upon the great world’s altar-stairs
That
slope thro’ darkness up to God,
I
stretch lame hands of faith, and grope,
And gather dust and chaff, and call
To what I feel is Lord of all,
And
faintly trust the larger hope.