Charity

I praised the myrtle and the rose,
  At sunrise in their beauty lying :
I passed them at the short day's close,
       And both were dying.

The summer sun his rays was throwing
  Brightly: yet ere I sought my rest
His last cold ray, more deeply glowing,
       Died in the west.

After this bleak world's stormy weather,
  All, all, save Love alone, shall die;
For Faith and Hope shall merge together
       In Charity.

20 September 1844.

(The foregoing verses are imitated from that beautiful little
poem Virtue, by George Herbert.)