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What sunshine falls around the darkest lot--
How soon its haunting spectres disappear--
When through its trouble breaks the living thought
That God is ever near!


Near, in the lowly grass, the lordly trees,
The summer flowers, and their delicious breath;
Near, in our hallowed temples, and the breeze
That sweeps the lonely heath.


Near, in the closet, in the peopled streets,
Out on the marvellous deep, in glittering show'rs;
Near, in the human heart, that beats and beats
Without decree of ours.


For we are wandering through enchanted land:
The tiniest eye-bud peeping from the sod,
Touch'd with the living thought--the spirit-wand--
It opens into God.


And wherefore should this meeting free the slave,
Enrich misfortune, lift the mourner's pall?
God is the secret good of all we crave;
And having God, gives all.