Weep no more, nor sigh, nor groan, Sorrow calls no time that's gone: Violets plucked the sweetest rain Makes not fresh nor grow again.

Drop, drop, slow tears, / And bathe those beauteous feet, / Which brought from Heaven / The news and Prince of Peace.

Of course it was very difficult to read the book. We read it through many tears, even knowing the story, ... But we feel he was certainly fair, and the story just keeps going on and on and on.

What precious drops are those, Which silently each other's track pursue, Bright as young diamonds in their faint dew?

The soul would have no rainbow had the eyes no tears.

We look through gloom and storm-drift Beyond the years: The soul would have no rainbow Hard the eyes no tears.