And make my life accordant with his own.
Not only would I think the truth, but yield
Each grain in all my being to the truth,
And sow in wildest wastes, where all should germ
In generations growing toward the good.
But still, a novice yet, though, like St. Paul,
To will was present with me; to perform
I found not how; but, on performance bent,
Within a chancel chanting with the choir,
I stood before an altar, half the day,