GENTLENESS.

Blind multitudes that jar confusedly

At strife, earth's children, will ye never rest

From toils made hateful here, and dawns distressed

With ravelling self-engendered misery?

And will ye never know, till sleep shall see

Your graves, how dreadful and how dark indeed

Are pride, self-will, and blind-voiced anger, greed,

And malice with its subtle cruelty?

How beautiful is gentleness, whose face

Like April sunshine, or the summer rain,

Swells everywhere the buds of generous thought?

So easy, and so sweet it is; its grace

Smoothes out so soon the tangled knots of pain.

Can ye not learn it? will ye not be taught?