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V.
Oh, what am I, if in this kindliness
Of universal nature I can feel
No love, nor, for at least the moment, steal
My hard heart from the tumult and the press!
The sun delights the winter's wounds to heal;
The rain is busy to support and bless;
And joyous Earth sings, like a spinning-wheel
Turned by a mother in her happiness!
O comfort, comfort me, thou wondrous height
Of softly-changing sky above my head!
And thou, warm growing ground beneath my feet!
—In vain my supplications I repeat:
In patience let the punishment be sped.
Shall not the Judge of all the earth do right?
