A poor little separate star
Each in his orbit rolls,--
Yet few of us heed what units we are
Among the millions of souls;
Each as a self stands out
Centre of all things round,
With rarely a hope or a fear or a doubt
But self at the core is found.

And, O what a narrow world,
And anything but 'wide wide!'
Back on the past are we constantly hurl'd
As by a refluent tide;
And over and over again
In our old tracks we tread,
Meeting the past for pleasure or pain
Where vice or virtue led.

For none ever hatch'd an ill,
And none ever cherish'd a good,
But each came back to its nest with a will,
And there with a fix'd foot stood:
And woe to the soul whose past
Is selfishness shadow'd by sin;
But gladness that shall for eternity last
To the heart that is love within!