, For Abel, Which Indeed Impelled In Me That Gaiety Of Soul Without Your Fears I Had Listened To My Own In Spite Of Doubt, Despondency, And Death, Though Lacking Knowledge Alway, Lacking Faith Sometimes, And Hope; With No Sure Trust In Ought Except A Kind Of Impetus Within, Whose Sole Credentials Were That Trust Itself; Yet, In Despite Of Much, In Lack Of More, Life Has Been Beautiful To Me, My Son, And I, If I Am Called, Will Come Again. As He Hath Lived He Dies. My Comforter, Whom I Believed Not, Only Trusted In, What Had I Been Without Thee? How Survived? Would I Were With Thee Whereso'Er Thou Art! Would I Might Follow Thee Still! But Sleep Is Sweet, And I Would Sleep, My Son. Oh Cain! Behold Your Father'S Words Are Said!