This western wind hath Lethean powers, 
Yon noonday cloud nepenthe showers, 
The lake is white with lotus flowers ! 
Even Duty’s voice is faint and low, 
And slumberous Conscience, waking slow, 
Forgets her blotted scroll to show. 
The shadow which pursues us all, 
Whose ever nearing steps appall, 
Whose voice we hear behind us call, — 
That Shadow blends with mountain gray, 
It speaks but what the light waves say, — 
Death walks apart from Fear today! 
Rocked on her breast, these pines and I 
Alike on Nature’s love rely; 
And equal seems to live and die. 
Assured that He whose presence fills 
With light the spaces of these hills 
No evil to his creatures wills, 
The simple faith remains, that He 
Will do, whatever that may be, 
The best alike for man and tree. 
What mosses over one shall grow, 
What light and life the other know, 
Unanxious, leaving Him to show. 
Whittier. 
