The men who for this earthly life would claim Well nigh the whole, and if the work of heaven Be relegated to one day in seven, Account the other six may without blame, Unsanctified by one diviner aim, To self to mammon and the world be given, These scanty worshippers might nigh be driven, Were they but here, to profitable shame. This eve, the closing of no festal day, This common work-day eve, in the open street Seen have I groups of happy people meet, Putting for this their toil and tasks away, Men, women, boys, at one rude shrine to pray, And there their fervent litanies repeat.
To leave unseen so many a glorious sight, To leave so many lands unvisited, To leave so many worthiest books unread, Unrealized so many visions bright;-- Oh! wretched yet inevitable spite Of our short span, and we must yield our breath, And wrap us in the lazy coil of death, So much remaining of unproved delight. But hush, my soul, and, vain regrets, be stilled Find rest in Him who is the complement Of whatsoe’er transcends your mortal doom, Of broken hope and frustrated intent; In the clear vision and aspèct of whom All wishes and all longings are fulfilled.
A dreary lot is his who roams “Homeless among a thousand homes;” A dreary thing it is to stray, As I have sometimes heard men say, And of myself have partly known, A passing stranger and alone In some great city: harder there, With life about us everywhere, Than in the desert to restrain A sense of solitary pain. We wander thro’ the busy street, And think how every one we meet Has parents sister friend or wife, With whom to share the load of life. We wander on, for little care Have we turn our footsteps there, Where we are but a nameless guest, One who may claim no interest In any heart--a passing face, That comes and goes, and leaves no trace; Where service waits us, prompt but cold, A loveless service, bought and sold.
Yet hard it is not to sustain A time like this, if there remain True greetings for us, hand and heart, Wherein we claim the chiefest part, Although divided now they be By many a tract of land and sea. If we can fly to thoughts like these, Fall back on such sure sympathies, This were sufficient to repress That transient sense of loneliness.