June 6

I shall yet praise Him for the help of His countenance.

THE hour, whose happy Unalloy'd moments

I would eternalise, Ten thousand mourners Well pleased see end.

The bleak stern hour Whose severe moments I would annihilate, Is passed by others In warmth, light, joy.

Time, so complained of, Who to no one man Shows partiality, Brings round to all men Some undimmed hours.

MATTHEW ARNOLD

THE BALANCE

He will lead thee out of darkness into the light of health.

WHEREFORE to-night so full of care, My soul, revolving hopeless strife, Pointing at hindrance, and the bare Painful escapes of fitful life?

Shaping the doom that may befall By precedent of terror past: By love dishonoured, and the call Of friendship slighted at the last?

By treasured names, the little store That memory out of wreck could save Of loving hearts, that gone before, Call their old comrade to the grave?

O soul, be patient: thou shalt find A little matter mend all this; Some strain of music to thy mind, Some praise for skill not spent amiss.

Again shall pleasure overflow Thy cup with sweetness, thou shalt taste Nothing but sweetness, and shalt grow Half sad for sweetness run to waste.

O happy life! I hear thee sing, O rare delight of mortal stuff! I praise my days for all they bring, Yet are they only not enough.