NOW, by the verdure on thy thousand hills, <br />Beloved England, doth the earth appear <br />Quite good enough for men to overbear <br />The will of God in, with rebellious wills ! <br />We cannot say the morning-sun fulfils <br />Ingloriously its course, nor that the clear <br />Strong stars without significance insphere <br />Our habitation: we, meantime, our ills <br />Heap up against this good and lift a cry <br />Against this work-day world, this ill-spread feast, <br />As if ourselves were better certainly <br />Than what we come to. Maker and High Priest, <br />I ask thee not my joys to multiply,-- <br />Only to make me worthier of the least.<br /><br />Elizabeth Barrett Browning<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/adequacy/
