Great Master! teach us how to hope in man:
We lift our eyes upon his works and ways,
And disappointment chills us as we gaze,
Our dream of him so far the truth outran,
So far his deeds are ever falling short.
And then we fold our graceful hands and say,
"The world is vulgar." Didst thou turn away,
O Sacred Spirit, delicately wrought,
Because the humble souls of Galilee
Were tuned not to the music of thine own
And chimed not to the pulsing undertone
Which swelled Thy loving bosom like the sea?
Shame thou our coldness, most benignant Friend,
When we so daintily do condescend.
--Martha Perry Howe.