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I I HEARD the wild beasts in the woods complain; | |
| Some slept, while others waken’d to sustain | |
| Thro’ night and day the sad monotonous round, | |
| Half savage and half pitiful the sound. | |
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| The outcry rose to God thro’ all the air, | 5 |
| The worship of distress, an animal prayer, | |
| Loud vehement pleadings not unlike to those | |
| Job utter’d in his agony of woes. | |
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| The very pauses, when they came, were rife | |
| With sick’ning sounds of too-successful strife; | 10 |
| As when the clash of battle dies away, | |
| The groans of night succeed the shrieks of day. | |
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| Man’s scent the untamed creatures scarce can bear, | |
| As if his tainted blood defiled the air; | |
| In the vast woods they fret as in a cage, | 15 |
| Or fly in fear, or gnash their teeth with rage. | |
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| The beasts of burden linger on their way, | |
| Like slaves who will not speak when they obey; | |
| Their faces, when their looks to us they raise, | |
| With something of reproachful patience gaze. | 20 |
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| All creatures round us seem to disapprove; | |
| Their eyes discomfort us with lack of love; | |
| Our very rights, with signs like these alloy’d, | |
| Not without sad misgivings are enjoy’d. | |
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II Mostly men’s many-featured faces wear | 25 |
| Looks of fix’d gloom, or else of restless care; | |
| The very babes, that in their cradles lie, | |
| Out of the depths of unknown troubles cry. | |
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| Labour itself is but a sorrowful song, | |
| The protest of the weak against the strong; | 30 |
| Over rough waters, and in obstinate fields, | |
| And from dank mines, the same sad sound it yields. | |
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| Doth Earth send nothing up to Thee but moans, | |
| Father? Canst thou find melody in groans? | |
| O, can it be that Thou, the God of bliss, | 35 |
| Canst feed Thy glory on a world like this? | |
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| Yet it is well with us. From these alarms | |
| Like children scared we fly into Thine arms; | |
| And pressing sorrows put our pride to rout | |
| With a swift faith which has not time to doubt. | 40 |
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| We cannot herd in peace with wild beasts rude; | |
| We dare not live in Nature’s solitude; | |
| In how few eyes of men can we behold | |
| Enough of love to make us calm and bold? | |
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| O, it is well with us! With angry glance | 45 |
| Life glares at us, or looks at us askance: | |
| Seek where we will—Father, we see it now!— | |
| None love us, trust us, welcome us, but Thou. | |
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