Page:Hymns of the Marshes.djvu/69

 For thee, Cloud,—if thou spend thine all

Upon the South's o'er-brimming sea

That needs thee not; or crawl

To the dry provinces, and fall

Till every convert clod shall give to thee

Green worship; if thou grow or fade,

Bring on delight or misery,

Fly east or west, be made

Snow, hail, rain, wind, grass, rose, light, shade;

What matters it to thee? There is no thee.

Pass, kinsman Cloud, now fair and mild:

Discharge the will that's not thine own.

I work in freedom wild,

But work, as plays a little child,

Sure of the Father, Self, and Love, alone.