We have not laid our hand's best action down,
Nor have we sung the sweetest songs that rise
Within the heart: nor seen with wakened eyes
The thorns and laurels that shall be our crown.
The future pathway none can see, nor roam;
None fly from marge to marge, to touch the spot
Of some great conquest; for we know it not,
Nor that far dwelling of our love and home.
Suffice there is a sweetness now and near;
A Grace remembering all our humanness:
A halo o'er our brows that seems to bless,
And to our prayers a Father's listening ear.