Whoops from mine ears the sounds of them that sing
About their work, ‘My God, my father-king!’
I turn in haste to see thy blessed door,
But, lo, a cloud of flies and bats and birds,
And stalking vapours, and vague monster-herds
Have risen and lighted, rushed and swollen between!
Ah me! the house of peace is there no more.
Was it a dream then?-Walls, fireside, and floor,
And sweet obedience, loving, calm, and free,
Are vanished-gone as they had never been!
I labour groaning. Comes a sudden sheen!-
And I am kneeling at my father’s knee,
Sighing with joy, and hoping utterly.

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