Then fiercely we dig the fountain, Oh! whence do the waters rise? Then panting we climb the mountain, Oh! are there indeed blue skies? And we dig till the soul is weary, Nor find the waters out! And we climb till all is dreary, And still the sky is a doubt. Search not the roots of the fountain, But drink the water bright; Gaze far above the mountain, The sky may speak in light. But if yet thou see no beauty-- If widowed thy heart yet cries-- With thy hands go and do thy duty, And thy work will clear thine eyes. _Violin Songs_. GEORGE MACDONALD.…
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