I did not care to see their glorious hues,
Fearing the richer perfume I might lose.
Then in the dim old wood
I laid me down beneath a bending tree,
And dreamed, dear mother, waking dreams of thee.
I thought how just and good
The power that had so gently sealed mine eyes,
Yet bade new pleasures and new hopes arise.
For now in truth I find
My Father all his promises hath kept;