Because my heart in praise goes up
For such a full and heaped-up cup.
“But, ah! ’tis my unhappy fate
To see on board a man I hate:
I know I should not be so mad;
But he behaves so very bad.”
“‘Hate’ there only means ‘can’t bear,’” said Maggie, when she had finished this last verse and read it aloud to her sister: “but you see ‘can’t bear’ don’t rhyme very well with ‘fate;’ and I want to put that, it is such a very poetical word, and sounds so very grown-up-y. I had to put that verse about Mr. Temple for a relief to my feelings; and ‘hate’ must be excused.”
“That first verse is lovely,” said Bessie. “It sounds so very nice; and, besides, it is so pious.”
“Yes,” said Maggie. “I thought I’d better begin with a little religion and gratitude. Besides, it was that made the poetry come into my ideas, Bessie. I was thinking how very good and grateful we ought to be, when God gives us such a very beautiful world to look at, and travel about in.”
“Yes,” said Bessie, putting her head on one side and giving her sister a look which expressed as much admiration and affection as a look could do, “yes: what a very smart, nice girl you are, Maggie!”