Moods
- My heart is pregnant with a great despair
- With much beholding of my people’s care,
- ‘Mid blinded prejudice and nurtured wrong,
- Exhaling wantonly the days along:
- I mark Faith’s fragile craft of cheering light
- Tossing imperiled on the sea of night,
- And then, enanguished, comes my heart’s low cry,
- “God, God! I crave to learn the reason why!”
- Again, in spirit loftily I soar
- With winged vision through earth’s outer door.
- In such an hour, it is mine to see,
- In frowning fortune smiling destiny!