One Grief of Thine

One grief of thine
if truth be confest
Was joy to me;
for it drave to my breast
Thee, to my heart
to find thy rest.

How long it was
I never shall know:
I watcht the earth
so stately and slow,
And the ancient things
that waste and grow.

But now for me
what speed devours
Our heavenly life,
our brilliant hours!
How fast they fly,
the stars and flowers!