Of those unworthy of a soul so pure,
Thy rare, unchildlike dignity of mien,
All—they will all bring pain to thee, my child.
And oh! if ever their grace and goodness meet
Cold looks and careless greetings, how will all
the latent evil yet undisciplined
In their young, timid souls forgiveness find?
Forgiveness and forbearance, and soft chidings,
Which I, their mother, learn’d of love, to give.
Ah! let me stay! albeit my heart is weary,