Pippa's Song The year's at the spring The day's at the morn Morning's at seven, The Hill side's dew-pearled The lark's on the wing The snail's on the thorn God's in his heaven- All's right with the world

The curious crime, the fine Felicity and flower of wickedness.

God's justice, tardy though it prove perchance, Rests never on the track until it reach Delinquency.

Though Rome's gross yoke Drops off, no more to be endured, Her teaching is not so obscured By errors and perversities, That no truth shines athwart the lies.

Desire joy and thank God for it. Renounce it, if need be, for other's sake. That's joy beyond joy.

The lie was dead And damned, and truth stood up instead.

Of what I call God, And fools call Nature.