Light

When we have sought Him vainly otherwhere-- Have closed our books and hushed our idle prayer, Too weary and heart-sore To seek Him any more--

And, loving yet our human kindred, go, Forgetting self, to work with them, nor know By lonely paths benign We reach the height divine:

Then, mid the living world where He hath wrought, In some chance word, or thought, or glimpse of thought, When all our search is past, We may see God at last.