Chapter XXII

Oh, this happiness,
Sometimes so rare, so frail,
It brings us near distress!
In vain we strive, as our hearts fail,
To make for us a screening tent
With all thy wondrous hair
To shelter us from care--
Yet deep within does anguish still ferment.

But love, a kneeling angel prays,
Asking alone for this,
That Fate may give to others equal days
Of tenderness and bliss.

And on those stormy days when evenings share
With highest heaven all their cruel despair,
We seek forgiveness as the night unrolls--
Forgiveness for the sweetness in our souls.