Page:A Century of Roundels.djvu/54



soul scarce fledged for earth Takes wing with heaven again for goal Even while we hailed as fresh from birth A little soul.

Our thoughts ring sad as bells that toll, Not knowing beyond this blind world's girth What things are writ in heaven's full scroll.

Our fruitfulness is there but dearth, And all things held in time's control Seem there, perchance, ill dreams, not worth A little soul.