The Little Wind-flower, Whose Just Opened Eye

The Sad And Solemn Night Hath Yet Her Multitude Of Cheerful Fires; The Glorious Host Of Light Walk The Dark Hemisphere Till She Retires; All Through Her Silent Watches, Gliding Slow, Her Constellations Come, And Climb The Heavens, And Go.

There Is A Day Of Sunny Rest For Every Dark And Troubled Night; And Grief May Hide An Evening Guest, But Joy Shall Come With Early Light.

Earth, That Nourished Thee, Shall Claim Thy Growth, To Be Resolved To Earth Again, And, Lost Each Human Trace, Surrendering Up Thine Individual Being, Shalt Thou Go To Mix Forever With The Elements, To Be A Brother To The Insensible Rock And To The Sluggish Clod, Which The Rude Swain Turns With His Share, And Treads Upon. The Oak Shall Send His Roots Abroad, And Pierce Thy Mold.

Remorse Is Virtue's Root; Its Fair Increase Is Fruits Of Innocence And Blessedness.

Truth Crushed To Earth Shall Rise Again,- The Eternal Years Of God Are Hers; But Error, Wounded, Writhes With Pain, And Dies Among His Worshippers.