Classic Poem

And if, O Brethren of the Bleeding Heart,
Dreamers amid the Storm where Love gropes blind,
I have cried aloud for Joy to tear apart
The cloud of Fate that broods o'er Humankind;

If 'mid the darkness I have call'd, ‘Rejoice!
God's in His Heaven—the skies are blue and fair!’
If for a moment's space my faltering voice
Hath echoed here the infant's cry and prayer;

'Tis that the pang of pity grew too great,
Too absolute the quick sharp sense of pain,
And in my soul's despair, left desolate,
I sought to be a little child again!

Not that I love your piteous labours less,
But that I yearn for Life and Sunshine more,—
Hearing, 'mid Seas and Storms so pitiless,
The happy children shouting on the shore!