It is not reason which makes faith hard, but life.
Youth! youth! how buoyant are thy hopes! they turn, like marigolds, toward the sunny side.
How gently rock yon poplars high Against the reach of primrose sky With heaven's pale candles stored.
Children bring their own love with them when they come.
When sparrows build and the leaves break forth My old sorrow wakes and cries.
I am glad to think I am not bound to make the world go right, but only to discover and to do, with cheerful heart, the work that God appoints.