When the rude world’s relentless war has pressed Fiercely upon them, and the hot campaign Closes with battles lost, some yield their lives, Or linger in the ruins of the fight— Unwise, and comprehending not their fate, Nor gathering that affluent recompense Which the all-pitying Earth has yet in store. Surely such men have never known the love Of Nature; nor had recourse to her fount Of calm delights, whose influences heal The wounded spirits of her vanquished sons; Nor ever—in those fruitful earlier days, Wherein her manifest forms do most enrich Our senses void of subtler cognizance— Wandered in summer fields, climbed the free hills, Pursued the murmuring music of her streams, And found the borders of her sounding sea. But thou—when, in the multitudinous lists Of traffic, all thine own is forfeited At some wild hazard, or by weakening drains Poured from thee; or when, striving for the meed Of place, thou failest, and the lesser man By each ignoble method wins thy due; When the injustice of the social world Environs thee; when ruthless public scorn, Black slander, and the meannesses of friends Have made the bustling practice of the world To thee a discord and a mockery; Or even if that last extremest pang Be thine, and, added to such other woes, The loss of that forever faithful love Which else had balanced all: the putting out, Untimely, of the light in dearest eyes;— At such a time thou well may’st count the days Evil, and for a season quit the field; Yet not surrendering all human hopes, Nor the rich physical life which still remains God’s boon and thy sustainer. It were base To join alliance with the hosts of Fate Against thyself, crowning their victory By loose despair, or seeking rest in death. More wise, betake thee to those sylvan haunts Thou knewest when young, and, once again a child, Let their perennial loveliness renew Thy natural faith and childhood’s heart serene. Forgetting all the toilsome pilgrimage, Awake from strife and shame, as from a dream Dreamed by a boy, when under waving trees He sleeps and dreams a languid afternoon. Once more from these harmonious beauties gain Repose and ransom, and a power to feel The immortal gladness of inanimate things.