Quiet from God! how beautiful to keep

This treasure, the All-merciful hath given;

To feel, when we awake and when we sleep,

Its incense round us, like a breath from heaven!

To sojourn in the world, and yet apart;

To dwell with God, and still with man to feel;

To bear about forever in the heart

The gladness which His spirit doth reveal!

Who shall make trouble, then? Not evil minds

Which like a shadow o’er creation lower;

The soul which peace hath thus attunéd finds

How strong within doth reign the Calmer’s power.

What shall make trouble? Not the holy thought

Of the departed; that will be a part

Of those undying things His peace hath wrought

Into a world of beauty in the heart.

What shall make trouble? Not slow-wasting pain,

Nor even the threatening, certain stroke of death;

These do but wear away, then break, the chain

Which bound the spirit down to things beneath.