Yea, flowers in the desert, there be that love your beauty;
Yea, jewels in the sea, there be that prize your brightness;
Children of unmerited oblivion, there be that watch and woo you,
And many tend your sweets, with gentle ministering care:
Thronging spirits of the happy, and the ever-present Good One
Yearning seek those precious things, man hath not heart to love,
Gems of the humblest or the highest, pure and patient in their kind,
The souls unhardened by ill usage, and uncorrupt by luxury.
And ye, poor desolates unsunned, toilers in the dark damp mine,
Wearied daughters of oppression, crushed beneath the car of avarice,