Dull wit, and scanty joy,—nor be afraid
That we shall thwart the purpose of our living
By such self-tolerance and such forgiving;
For the least spark which fires the mortal clod,
And wakes the hunger and the thirst divine
In the least soul, as truly is of God
As the great flame which burns a beaconing sign
To light the nations when their hope is dim,
Set in the darkness as a type of Him.
Take courage then, poor soul, so little worth