A BIT OF ROCK 47 



For Hope is slow to put her fears to proof 

 When truth might rob her of the sure delight 

 In which she lives. Enough ! The fear, the hope 

 Is vanity itself. For what hath hope 

 To do with such as this, this bit of rock 

 Which yesterday was weathering in the cliff 

 Spurn'd by the climber's foot, and soon must make 

 Its grave upon a dust-heap ? Yet my mind 

 Is curious : a peep will show me all. 

 'Tis not in focus : now it comes to view. 

 O Living Gem ! O Loveliness of Life ! 

 Go, call the children ; bid them come and see. 

 O Glory of the wild ! O living proof 

 Of unperceived worlds ! O rare delight ! 

 Granny must come ; bid granny come as well. 

 Nigh eighty years ! yet her experienc'd eye 

 Hath seen no sight like this. 



Now one and all 

 Come, look, and question ; one and all depart, 

 Amused or thoughtful, each according to 

 The riches of his mind ; for 'tis the mind, 

 And not the eye, determines what we see. 



Alone ! O charming solitude ! Alone, 

 But with my love, sweet Nature, sweetest peace! 

 Here to thy bosom thou enfoldest me 

 Who am thy child. O Mother, thou art all 

 My refuge and my strength when the rough winds 

 Of calumny assail and human hearts 

 Are less than human. Pity me, that I 

 Among thy many children, one by one, 

 Lose all I love but thee. So I return, 

 Dear Mother, to thine arms, again a child. 

 Thy face is kind ; thy heart is merciful 

 E'en when the lightning threatens, even when, 

 Germs thick'ning in the blood, I say good-bye 

 And the last darkness falls. Thou sparest not ; 

 Thou sparest not thine own. Thy stern reproof 

 Is always just, because thou lovest all 

 And hatest none. The little and the great 

 Are one with thee. The star-clouds — they that float 



