As here I sit, the swaying of the trees, The streaming window, the imploring sky, Are foils to show how fortunate am I, -- Mere ghosts that chatter at my indoor ease. Outside, the scowling plodder only sees A splashing eave, a cart that flounders by, How deeply weltering the pavements lie, And how a horse has slipped upon his knees. Not from the study or the midst of trade Is God's great purpose ever fully known: Lo, I have seen the rain within the wood! How pleasant music on the leaves it made, How grateful was the brooklet's undertone, And how the thirsty ground declared it good! |