"That not one life shall be destroy'd,
Or cast as rubbish to the void,
When God hath made the pile complete."
But how reverently does he touch this mysterious subject!
"Behold, we know not anything;
I can but trust that good shall fall
At last--far off--at last, to all,
And every winter change to spring.
So runs my dream: but what am I?
An infant crying in the night:
An infant crying for the light:
And with no language but a cry."
In Poem cxxiv., stanza 5, he says,
"Then was I as a child that cries,
But, crying, knows his father near."