Classic Poem

What sunshine falls around the darkest lot—
How soon its haunting spectres disappear—
When through its trouble breaks the living thought
That God is ever near!

Near, in the lowly grass, the lordly trees,
The summer flowers, and their delicious breath;
Near, in our hallowed temples, and the breeze
That sweeps the lonely heath.

Near, in the closet, in the peopled streets,
Out on the marvellous deep, in glittering show'rs;
Near, in the human heart, that beats and beats
Without decree of ours.

For we are wandering through enchanted land:
The tiniest eye-bud peeping from the sod,
Touch'd with the living thought—the spirit-wand—
It opens into God.

And wherefore should this meeting free the slave,
Enrich misfortune, lift the mourner's pall?
God is the secret good of all we crave;
And having God, gives all.