For Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love
  Is God, our Father dear,
  And Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love
  Is man, His child and care.

  For Mercy has a human heart,
  Pity a human face,
  And Love, the human form divine,
  And Peace, the human dress.

  Then every man, of every clime,
  That prays in his distress,
  Prays to the human form divine,
  Love, Mercy, Pity, Peace.

  And all must love the human form,
  In heathen, Turk, or Jew;
  Where Mercy, Love, and Pity dwell
  There God is dwelling too.

  ON ANOTHER’S SORROW

  Can I see another’s woe,
  And not be in sorrow too? 
  Can I see another’s grief,
  And not seek for kind relief?

  Can I see a falling tear,
  And not feel my sorrow’s share? 
  Can a father see his child
  Weep, nor be with sorrow filled?

  Can a mother sit and hear
  An infant groan, an infant fear? 
  No, no! never can it be! 
  Never, never can it be!

  And can He who smiles on all
  Hear the wren with sorrows small,
  Hear the small bird’s grief and care,
  Hear the woes that infants bear,

  And not sit beside the nest,
  Pouring pity in their breast;
  And not sit the cradle near,
  Weeping tear on infant’s tear;

  And not sit both night and day,
  Wiping all our tears away? 
  O, no! never can it be! 
  Never, never can it be!

  He doth give His joy to all;
  He becomes an infant small;
  He becomes a man of woe;
  He doth feel the sorrow too.

  Think not thou canst sigh a sigh,
  And thy Maker is not by;
  Think not thou canst weep a tear,
  And thy Maker is not near.

  O!  He gives to us His joy
  That our grief He may destroy;
  Till our grief is fled and gone
  He doth sit by us and moan.

  THE BOOK OF THEL

Thel’s Motto Does the Eagle know what is in the pit:  Or wilt thou go ask the Mole?  Can Wisdom be put in a silver rod, Or Love in a golden bowl?

  I

  The daughters of [the] Seraphim led round their sunny flocks—­
  All but the youngest:  she in paleness sought the secret air,
  To fade away like morning beauty from her mortal day: 
  Down by the river of Adona her soft voice is heard,
  And thus her gentle lamentation falls like morning dew:—­

  ’O life of this our spring! why fades the lotus of the water? 
  Why fade these children of the spring, born but to smile and fall? 
  Ah!  Thel is like a watery bow, and like a parting cloud;
  Like a reflection in a glass; like shadows in the water;
  Like dreams of infants, like a smile upon an infant’s face;
  Like the dove’s voice; like transient day; like music in the air. 
  Ah! gentle may I lay me down, and gentle rest my head,
  And gentle sleep the sleep of death, and gentle hear the voice
  Of Him that walketh in the garden in the evening time.’