ery Paradise a hell.

XXXVIII.

I wander through the city; there is nought
Of beauty or attractiveness here shown.
Nature, and Nature only, here has brought
Adornment. But that little man has done
Which bare necessity compelled him do;
And nothing tasteful meets my weary view.

XXXIX.

I pass the city through, and onward, till
A pleasing view awakens me, I stray.
Here, standing on a high and wooded hill,
Imposing is the view that I survey.
Afar, across the straits, the mountains rise
In sunlit mightiness before my eyes.

XL.

So near they seem that I could almost be
There, at their feet, before the noon of day.
And yet I know the mountains, seemingly
So near, in truth are many miles away.
The air, so pure and undefiled, brings near
The view, which else far distant would appear.

XLI.

Thus is it with our cherished hopes. We see,
Not seeming far, a life of happiness
Before us; and so close it seems to be,
That present grief and trouble pain us less
Than otherwise they would. More cheerfully
We bear our trials for their brevity.

XLII.

But, as the days of pain roll slowly by,
And lengthen them to weary months and years,
And all our hopes of happiness still lie
Unfructified, these almost yield to fears;
And faith alone will give us strength to bear
Affliction's heavy scourge without despair.

XLIII.

Deep disappointment constantly renewed
Has weakened us; but still we hope to gain
That brighter life. But oh! if we'd reviewed,
At first, that life of long-continued pain,
We scarce had found the strength to struggle through
The path o'ershadowed with so dark a hue.

XLIV.

But each new day has brought a new-born hope,
Each night of rest has strengthened us anew,
And given us again the power to cope
With pain and trial; and we still pursue
Our way in faith, and day by day we cherish
The hope that on _that_ day our pain will perish.

XLV.

Thus is it best that we should never know
What is to be, but walking in the path
Appointed, thank our God who made it so;
And daily forward press our way in faith
Unquestioningly, knowing well that He,
Who chose that path, is wiser far than we.

XLVI.

Upon the waters now the sun has poured
His morning light; each little ripple gleams
In joy because the day has been restored,
And dances lightly in its welcome beams.
And gladly, brightly on the wavelets go,
And musically murmur as they flow.