I Shall Be Satisfied With The Seeing Of Thy Face. When I Awake, Wide-Eyed, I Shall Be Satisfied With What This Life Did Hide, The One Supernal Grace! I Shall Be Satisfied With The Seeing Of Thy Face. December 27, 1879 Every Time Would Have Its Song If The Heart Were Right, Seeing Love All Tender-Strong Fills The Day And Night. Weary Drop The Hands Of Prayer Calling Out For Peace; Love Always And Everywhere Sings And Does Not Cease. Fear, The Caitiff, Through The Night Silent Peers About; Love Comes Singing With A Light And Doth Cast Him Out. Hate And Guile And Wrath And Doubt Never Try To Sing; If They Did, Oh, What A Rout Anguished Ears Would Sting! Pride Indeed Will Sometimes Aim At The Finer Speech, But The Best That He Can Frame Is A Peacock-Screech. Greed Will Also Sometimes Try: Happiness He Hunts! But His Dwelling Is A Sty, And His Tones Are Grunts. Faith Will Sometimes Raise A Song Soaring Up To Heaven, Then She Will Be Silent Long, And Will Weep At Even. Hope Has Many A Gladsome Note Now And Then To Pipe; But, Alas, He Has The Throat Of A Bird Unripe. Often Joy A Stave Will Start Which The Welkin Rends, But It Always Breaks Athwart, And Untimely Ends. Grief, Who Still For Death Doth Long, Always Self-Abhorred, Has But One Low, Troubled Song, I Am Sorry, Lord. But Love Singeth In The Vault. Singeth On The Stair; Even For Sorrow Will Not Halt, Singeth Everywhere. For The Great Love Everywhere Over All Doth Glow; Draws His Birds Up Trough The Air, Tends His Birds Below. And With Songs Ascending Sheer Love-Born Love Replies, Singing Father In His Ear Where She Bleeding Lies. Therefore, If My Heart Were Right I Should Sing Out Clear, Sing Aloud Both Day And Night Every Month In The Year!