Duty?— Comfort of the sinner
And the saint!— when grief and trial
Weigh us, and within our inner
Selves,— responsive to love's viol,—
Hope's soft voice grows thin and thinner,
It is kin to self-denial.
Self-denial!— through whose feeling
We are gainer though we're loser;
All the finer force revealing
Of our natures. No accuser
Is the conscience then, but healing
Of the wound of which we're chooser.
Some one said no flower knoweth
Of the fragrance it revealeth;
Song, its soul that overfloweth,
Never nightingale's heart feeleth —
Such the love the spirit groweth,
Love unconscious if it healeth.