WE overstate the ills of life, and take
Imagination, given us to bring down
The choirs of singing angels overshone
By God's clear glory,--down our earth to rake
The dismal snows instead; flake following flake,
To cover all the corn. We walk upon
The shadow of the hills across a level thrown,
And pant like climbers. Near the alderbrake
We sigh so loud, the nightingale within
Refuses to sing loud, as else she would.
O brothers! let us leave the shame and sin
Of taking vainly, in a plaintive mood,
The holy name of GRIEF!--holy herein,
That, by the grief of ONE, came all our good.
