The sea-kelp whips the wave ashore;

The wind shakes out the colored fire

From lamps a-row on the sycamore;

The tanager, with flitting note,

Shows to wild heaven his wedding-coat;

The mink is busy; herds again

Go hillward in the honeyed rain;

The midges meet. I cry to Thee

Whose heart

Remembers each of these: Thou art

My God who hast forgotten me.

Bright from the mast, a scarf unwound,

The lined gulls in the offing ride;

Along an edge of marshy ground

The shad-bush enters like a bride.

Yon little clouds are washed of care

That climb the blue New England air,

And almost merrily withal

The tree-frog plays at evenfall

His oboe in a mossy tree.

So too,

Happy the vernal rout that come

To their due offices to-day,

And strange, if in Thy mercy’s sum,

Excluded man alone decay.

I ask no triumph, ask no joy,

Save leave to live, in law’s employ.

As to a weed, to me but give

Thy sap! lest aye inoperative

Here in the Pit my strength shall be:

And still

Help me endure the Pit, until

Thou wilt not have forgotten me.