When we have sought Him vainly otherwhere--
Have closed our books and hushed our idle prayer,
Too weary and heart-sore
To seek Him any more--
And, loving yet our human kindred, go,
Forgetting self, to work with them, nor know
By lonely paths benign
We reach the height divine:
Then, mid the living world where He hath wrought,
In some chance word, or thought, or glimpse of thought,
When all our search is past,
We may see God at last.