ALL'S WELL.

Sweet-voicèd Hope, thy fine discourse Foretold not half life's good to me; Thy painter, Fancy, hath not force To show how sweet it is to be! Thy witching dream And pictured scheme To match the fact still want the power; Thy promise brave From birth to grave Life's boon may beggar in an hour. Ask and receive,—'tis sweetly said; Yet what to plead for know I not; For Wish is worsted, Hope o'ersped, And aye to thanks returns my thought. If I would pray, I've nought to say But this, that God may be God still; For Him to live Is still to give, And sweeter than my wish his will. O wealth of life beyond all bound! Eternity each moment given! What plummet may the Present sound? Who promises a future heaven? Or glad, or grieved, Oppressed, relieved, In blackest night, or brightest day, Still pours the flood Of golden good, And more than heartfull fills me aye. My wealth is common; I possess No petty province, but the whole; What's mine alone is mine far less Than treasure shared by every soul. Talk not of store, Millions or more,— Of values which the purse may hold,— But this divine! I own the mine Whose grains outweigh a planet's gold. I have a stake in every star, In every beam that fills the day; All hearts of men my coffers are, My ores arterial tides convey; The fields, the skies, And sweet replies Of thought to thought are my gold-dust,— The oaks, the brooks, And speaking looks Of lovers' faith and friendship's trust. Life's youngest tides joy-brimming flow For him who lives above all years, Who all-immortal makes the Now, And is not ta'en in Time's arrears: His life's a hymn The seraphim Might hark to hear or help to sing, And to his soul The boundless whole Its bounty all doth daily bring. "All mine is thine," the sky-soul saith; "The wealth I am, must thou become: Richer and richer, breath by breath,— Immortal gain, immortal room!" And since all his Mine also is, Life's gift outruns my fancies far, And drowns the dream In larger stream, As morning drinks the morning-star.