You thought by efforts of your own

To take at last each jarring tone

Out of your life, till all should meet

In one majestic music sweet—

Deeming that in our own heart’s ground

The root of good was to be found,

And that by careful watering

And earnest tendance we might bring

The bud, the blossom, and the fruit

To grow and flourish from that root—

You deemed we needed nothing more

Than skill and courage to explore

Deep down enough in our own heart,

To where the well-head lay apart,

Which must the springs of being feed,

And that these fountains did but need

The soil that choked them moved away,

To bubble in the open day.

But, thanks to heaven, it is not so,

That root a richer soil doth know{22}

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