Courage.

I thank thee, Life, that though I be This poor and broken thing to see, I still can look with pure delight Upon thy rose, the red, the white. And though so dark my own demesne, My neighbor's fields so fair and green, I thank thee that my soul and I Can fare along that grass and sky. Yet am I weak! Ere I be done. Give me one spot that takes the sun! Give me, ere I uncaring rest. One rose, to wear it on my breast!