Untitled

25.

When we consider what this life we lead Is not, and is; how full of toil and pain, How blank of rest and of substantial gain, Beset by hunger earth can never feed, And propping half our hearts upon a reed; We cease to mourn lost treasures mourned in vain, Lost treasures we are fain and yet not fain To fetch back for a solace of our need. For who that feel this burden and this strain, This wide vacuity of hope and heart, Would bring their cherished well-beloved again: To bleed with them and wince beneath the smart, To have with stinted bliss such lavish bane, To hold in lieu of all so poor a part?