The garden of our sorrows built In the soil of everlasting spring Where the flowers of our dreams all wilt, Is only a false and fleeting thing
For where love is our nature blooms And sadness lives unwatered long, There are a million starlit rooms And singing faith's eternal song
The soul outlasts the body's brief But fragrant years in its house of clay. No longer have we time for grief And hardly time enough to pray
For pressing on the earth a force Intolerant of time's delay Follows its unerring course Hewing for man the golden way.
Poems Undated (1727)
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