And homeless near a thousand homes I stood, And near a thousand tables pined and wanted food.
A deep distress has humanised my soul.
Until, the breath of this corporeal frame And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul: While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, We see into the life of things.
The unconquerable pang of despised love.
Small service is true service, while it lasts.
A simple child. That lightly draws its breath. And feels its life in every limb. What should it know of death?