On the earth the broken arcs; in the heaven a perfect round.
The great beacon light God sets in all, the conscience of each bosom.
The only fault's with time; All men become good creatures: but so slow!
If you can sit at set of sun And count the deeds that you have done And counting find oneself-denying act, one word That eased the heart of him that heard. One glance most kind, Which fell like sunshine where he went, Then you may count that day well spent.
All service is the same with God.
Only I discern Infinite passion, and the pain Of finite hearts that yearn.