A feeling of sadness and longing, that is not akin to pain, and resembles sorrow only as the mist resembles the rain.
Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; Behind the clouds is the sun still shining; Thy fate is the common fate of all, Into each life some rain must fall, Some days must be dark and dreary.
So nature deals with us, and takes away Our playthings one by one, and by the hand Leads us to rest so gently, that we go, Scarce knowing if we wish to go or stay, Being too full of sleep to understand How far the unknown transcends the what we know.
And in the wreck of noble lives Something immortal still survives.
But noble souls, through dust and heat, Rise from disaster and defeat The stronger.
The lowest ebb is the turn of the tide.
So when a great man dies, For years beyond our ken, The light he leaves behind him lies Upon the paths of men.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each to-morrow Finds us further than to-day.
Let us, then, be up and doing, With a heart for any fate; Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labour and to wait.
So mild, so merciful, so strong, so good, So patient, peaceful, loyal, loving, pure.