X.

"Praised be the mosses soft In thy forest pathways oft, And the thorns, which make us think Of the thornless river-brink Where the ransomed tread: Praised be thy sunny gleams, And the storm, that worketh dreams Of calm unfinished: Praised be thine active days, And thy night-time's solemn need, When in God's dear book we read _No night shall be therein_: Praised be thy dwellings warm By household faggot's cheerful blaze, Where, to hear of pardoned sin, Pauseth oft the merry din, Save the babe's upon the arm Who croweth to the crackling wood: Yea, and, better understood, Praised be thy dwellings cold, Hid beneath the churchyard mould, Where the bodies of the saints Separate from earthly taints Lie asleep, in blessing bound, Waiting for the trumpet's sound To free them into blessing;--none Weeping more beneath the sun, Though dangerous words of human love Be graven very near, above.