Mourner, that dost deserve thy mournfulness, Call thyself punished, call the earth thy hell; Say, "God is angry, and I earned it well— I would not have him smile on wickedness:" Say this, and straightway all thy grief grows less:— "God rules at least, I find as prophets tell, And proves it in this prison!"—then thy cell Smiles with an unsuspected loveliness. —"A prison—and yet from door and window-bar I catch a thousand breaths of his sweet air! Even to me his days and nights are fair! He shows me many a flower and many a star! And though I mourn and he is very far, He does not kill the hope that reaches there!"SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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