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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.)