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PAPERS ON LITERATURE AND ART.
quires, have you never known fear lest you want purity to receive the boon if granted?
Lord H.—I do not count those weak moments, George; they are not my true life.
George H.—It suffices that you know them, for, in time, I doubt not that every conviction which a human being needs, to be reconciled to the Parent of all, will be granted to a nature so ample, so open, and so aspiring. Let me answer in a strain which bespeaks my heart as truly, if not as nobly as yours answers to your great mind,—
| My joy, my life, my crown! |
| My heart was meaning all the day |
| Somewhat it fain would say; |
| And still it runneth, muttering, up and down, |
| With only this—my joy, my life, my crown. |
| Yet slight not these few words; |
| If truly said, they may take part |
| Among the best in art. |
| The fineness which a hymn or psalm affords, |
| Is, when the soul unto the lines accords. |
| He who craves all the mind |
| And all the soul, and strength and time; |
| If the words only rhyme, |
| Justly complains, that somewhat is behind |
| To make his verse or write a hymn in kind. |
| Whereas, if the heart be moved, |
| Although the verse be somewhat scant, |
| God doth supply the want— |
| As when the heart says, sighing to be approved, |
| “Oh, could I love!” and stops; God writeth, loved. |
Lord H.—I cannot say to you truly that my mind replies to this, although I discern a beauty in it. You will say I lack humility to understand yours.
