The American common-place book of poetry with occasional notes |
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He knoweth our Frame, He remembereth we are Dust.—Dana.
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 | The American common-place book of poetry |  |
He knoweth our Frame, He remembereth we are Dust.—Dana.
Thou, who didst form us with mysterious powers,Didst give a conscious soul, and call it ours,
'Tis thou alone who know'st the strife within;
Thou'lt kindly judge, nor name each weakness sin.
Thou art not man, who only sees in part,
Yet deals unsparing with a brother's heart;
For thou look'st in upon the struggling throng
That war—the good with ill—the weak with strong.
And those thy hand hath wrought of finer frame,
When grief o'erthrows the mind, thou wilt not blame.
—“It is enough!” thou'lt say, and pity show;
“Thy pain shall turn to joy, thou child of wo!—
Thy heart find rest—thy dark mind clear away,
And thou sit in the peace of heaven's calm day!”
| The American common-place book of poetry | |