WHO would wish back the Saints upon our rough,
Wish back a breathless soul
Just at the goal?
My soul, praise God
For all dear souls which have enough.
I would not fetch one back to hope with me
A hope deferred,
To taste a cup that slips
From thirsting lips: --
Hath he not heard
And seen what was to hear and see?
How could I stand to answer the rebuke,
If one should say:
"O friend of little faith,
Good was my death,
And good my day
Of rest, and good the sleep I took"?