ask an equal boon.

    Good nests and berries red are Natures

    to give ao better creatures, —

    And yet my days go on, go on.

    —A Voice reproves me thereupon,

    till days go out which now go on.

    Only to loose these pilgrim shoon,

    (too early

    Cool deadly touco tired feet.

    I sit and knock at Natures door,

    trongest on t day

    Only to lift turf unmown

    Forgetting he days go on.’

    Only the good.

    I knock and cry, —Undone, undone!

    do? Green anon

    the sward would quicken, overshone

    By skies as blue; and crickets might

    o c

    on,  on.

    From gracious Nature have I won

    Creep in, poor , beneat fold,

    My vacant days go on, go on.

    I ask less kindness to be done, —

    By days t painfully go on?

    More s tures whe drone

    For mine to lean and rest upon,

    Breato moan:

    thunder on.

    Sucy? may I run

    Gods Voice, not Natures! Night and noon

    s upon t hrone

    And listens for tures praise.

    the Day-spring he, whose days go on.

    babble we of days and days?

    And h hope no longer here,

    he reigns above, he reigns alone;

    Around him, changeless amid all,

    Ancient of Days, whose days go on.

    Is ripe for suc is for me,

    he Jealous God. ho mourns

    And, having life in love forgone

    Beneathorns,

    e  struggle nor impugn.

    As a child drops his pebble s