And even pious devotées
Whom sacred walls immure
Condemned me (as by feeble praise)—
What more could I endure?
Down by the stream, so pure and clear
That sunbeams paused to drink,
In loneliness and grief sincere
I pressed its grassy brink.
Thick darkness seemed to veil the day;
Beyond a realm of tears
Utopia's land of promise lay;
And not till later years
I learned this lesson—that to win
Results from labor sure,
"Reformers" always must begin
Among the lowly poor.
For they whose lot privation is
And whose delights are few,
Whose aggregate of miseries
Is want of something new,
The measure of whose happiness
Is but an empty cup,
For every novelty will press
Alert to fill it up.
Transcriber's Notes:
Page 27: Changed Galiee to Galilee (Printer's Error)
Page 47: Indented 1st stanza to match others
Page 173: Changed prarie to prairie (Printer's Error)