Memorials of a Happy Time: The Humiliation

Yes, Lord! 'tis well my suffering should be deep;
So with unsparing hand fill Thou the cup
Of bitter thought, and I will drink it up,
And then lie calmly down, yet not to sleep:
But like a guilty child; in penitence
When some unruly act hath first destroyed
Within his little soul the quiet sense
Of filial love and careless innocence;
And, as he feels his bliss with fear alloyed,
He wakes, he knows not why, all night to weep.
All human feeling grown to be intense
Comes nigh to sin; yet ah! my greedy heart
Cannot without a thankless murmur part
From that pure dream it hath so long enjoyed.