Page:The Poems and Prose remains of Arthur Hugh Clough, volume 2 (1869).djvu/32

 Which upon some sick bed are seen To glorify a pale worn face With sudden beauty,—so at whiles Lights have descended, hues have been, To clothe with half-celestial grace The bareness of the desert place.

Since so it is, so be it still! Could only thou, my heart, be taught To treasure, and in act fulfil The lesson which the sight has brought; In thine own dull and dreary state To work and patiently to wait: Little thou think'st in thy despair How soon the o'ershaded sun may shine, And e'en the dulling clouds combine To bless with lights and hues divine That region desolate and bare, Those sad and sinful thoughts of thine!

Still doth the coward heart complain; The hour may come, and come in vain; The branch that withered lies and dead No suns can force to lift its head. True!—yet how little thou canst tell How much in thee is ill or well; Nor for thy neighbour nor for thee, Be sure, was life designed to be A draught of dull complacency. One Power too is it, who doth give The food without us, and within The strength that makes it nutritive: He bids the dry bones rise and live,