While my last words were giving place To my heart’s anguish, o’er his face A shadow of displeasure past, But vanished then again as fast As the breeze-shadow from the brook; And with mild words and pitying look He gently said-- “Ah me, my son, A weary course your life has run; And yet it need not be in vain, That you have suffered all this pain; And, if mine years might make me bold To speak, methinks I could unfold Why in such efforts you could meet But only misery and defeat. Yet deem not of us as at strife, Because you set before your life A purpose and a loftier aim, Than the blind lives of men may claim For the most part--or that you sought, By fixed resolve and solemn thought, To lift your being’s calm estate Out of the range of time and fate. Glad am I that a thing unseen, A spiritual Presence, this has been Your worship, this your young heart stirred-- But yet herein you proudly erred, Here may the source of woe be found, You thought to fling, yourself around, The atmosphere of light and love In which it was your joy to move-- You thought by efforts of your own To take at last each jarring tone Out of your life, till all should meet In one majestic music sweet-- Deeming that in our own heart’s ground The root of good was to be found, And that by careful watering And earnest tendance we might bring The bud, the blossom, and the fruit To grow and flourish from that root-- You deemed we needed nothing more Than skill and courage to explore Deep down enough in our own heart, To where the well-head lay apart, Which must the springs of being feed, And that these fountains did but need The soil that choked them moved away, To bubble in the open day. But, thanks to heaven, it is not so, That root a richer soil doth know Than our poor hearts could e’er supply, That stream is from a source more high, From God it came, to God returns, Not nourished from our scanty urns, But fed from his unfailing river, Which runs and will run on for ever.” When now he came to heavenly things And spake of them, his spirit had wings, His words seemed not his own, but given-- I could have deemed one spake from heaven Of hope and joy, of life and death, And immortality through faith, Of that great change commenced within, The blood that cleanses from all sin, That can wash out the inward stain, And consecrate the heart again, The voice that clearer and more clear Doth speak unto the purgèd ear, The gracious influences given In a continued stream from heaven, The balm that can the soul’s hurt heal, The Spirit’s witness and its seal.