 | Three Hundred Sonnets |  |
227
WASTE IN ART.
Thousands of excellences unregarded,On the dense crowd and not on desert air
Wasting their sweetness, ever unrewarded,
Suffer in silent patience everywhere:
O multitude of merits grand or fair,
Yet hardly winning meed devoutly due!
O many messmates in life's crowded crew
Jostled aside by others' selfish care!
For here, as elsewhere, we discern it true
That lesser stars are scarcely seen to shine,
Though each a sun in universal heaven:
'Tis well; go on in faith and duty's line;
Be satisfied to be as God has given,—
Greater or lesser light is His,—not thine.
| Three Hundred Sonnets | |