Blaspheme not thou thy sacred life, nor turn <br />O'er joys that God hath for a season lent, <br />Perchance to try thy spirit, and its bent, <br />Effeminate soul and base! weakly to mourn; <br />There lies no desert in the land of life, <br />For e'en that tract that barrenest doth seem, <br />Laboured of thee in faith and hope, shall teem <br />With heavenly harvests and rich gatherings, rife. <br />Haply no more, music and mirth and love, <br />And glorious things of old and younger art, <br />Shall of thy days make one perpetual feast; <br />But when these bright companions all depart, <br />Lay thou thy head upon the ample breast <br />Of Hope, and thou shalt hear the angels sing above.<br /><br />Frances Anne Kemble<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/blaspheme-not-thou-thy-sacred-life-nor-turn/
