I sometimes feel so lonely! O my God,
I sometimes feel as though the race of man
Denies my birthright, places under ban
The tuneful path in which I humbly plod.
These proud possessors of the purse and clod,
Sneer at my calling. 'Orpheus' and 'Pan,'
Are taunts, not praises, from the common clan
Who scorn the roses in my garden-sod.
My way, 0 God, is hard and strange and dark;
Nor do I serve with the fidelity
That tunes the carol of the mounting lark.
But I am sore beset, as Thou canst see,
By banded curs that snarl and growl and bark,
And hate me only less than they hate Thee.