Genius has somewhat of the infantine; but of the childish not a touch or taint.
But how carve way i' the life that lies before, If bent on groaning ever for the past?
O world, as God has made it! All is beauty.
Then welcome each rebuff That turns earth's smoothness rough, Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand, but go! Be our joys three-parts pain! Strive, and hold cheap the strain; Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never grudge the throe!
Just for a handful of silver he left us, Just for a riband to stick in his coat.
God! Thou art love! I build my faith on that.