Gaily and greenly let my seasons run:
And should the war-winds of the world uproot
The sanctities of life, and its sweet fruit
Cast forth as fuel for the fiery sun;
The dews be turned to ice--fair days begun
In peace wear out in pain, and sounds that suit
Despair and discord keep Hope's harp-string mute;
Still let me live as Love and Life were one:
Still let me turn on earth a child-like gaze,
And trust the whispered charities that bring
Tidings of human truth; with inward praise
Watch the weak motion of each common thing
And find it glorious--still let me raise
On wintry wrecks an altar to the Spring.