(At A Cathedral Service) That From This Bright Believing Band An Outcast I Should Be, That Faiths By Which My Comrades Stand Seem Fantasies To Me, And Mirage-Mists Their Shining Land, Is A Drear Destiny. Why Thus My Soul Should Be Consigned To Infelicity, Why Always I Must Feel As Blind To Sights My Brethren See, Why Joys They've Found I Cannot Find, Abides A Mystery. Since Heart Of Mine Knows Not That Ease Which They Know; Since It Be That He Who Breathes All'S Well To These Breathes No All'S-Well To Me, My Lack Might Move Their Sympathies And Christian Charity! I Am Like A Gazer Who Should Mark An Inland Company Standing Upfingered, With, "Hark! Hark! The Glorious Distant Sea!" And Feel, "Alas, 'Tis But Yon Dark And Wind-Swept Pine To Me!" Yet I Would Bear My Shortcomings With Meet Tranquillity, But For The Charge That Blessed Things I'd Liefer Have Unbe. O, Doth A Bird Deprived Of Wings Go Earth-Bound Wilfully! * * * Enough. As Yet Disquiet Clings About Us. Rest Shall We.