In which absorb’d, as yet o’erwhelm’d, the soul
Folds itself up all silently to bear;
Nor seeks nor envies, as around they roll,
The world’s delights or pleasures more to share.
Thou doubt’st perchance; and once there was a time
I also doubted it; and endless thought
My deep affliction, and insulting crime
To tell me to an end it could be brought.
And yet it was! for so from God to man
That is another mercy, which alone,