THANK God, bless God, all ye who suffer not
More grief than ye can weep for. That is well--
That is light grieving! Lighter, none befel,
Since Adam forfeited the primal lot.
Tears! What are tears? The babe weeps in its cot,
The mother singing: at her marriage-bell,
The bride weeps: and before the oracle
Of high-faned hills, the poet hath forgot
That moisture on his cheeks. Commend the grace,
Mourners who weep! Albeit, as some have done,
Ye grope tear-blinded, in a desert place,
And touch but tombs, --look up! Those tears will run
Soon, in long rivers, down the lifted face,
And leave the vision clear for stars and sun.