Creative power, that makes all creatures one —
That speeds the rivers in their onward course,
To bless the valleys that they gleam upon —
That bids the fond birds woo the answering flowers,
And dallying breezes kiss the leafy bowers.
“They tell us of the shadow and the thorn,
And care and grief—and, though the pearly dews
Of life’s young matin still my feet adorn,
I have found thorns—the guardians of the rose
I plucked unharmed—and at their terrors laughed,