November 2

Thou knowest all our weeping, fainting, striving;

Thou know'st how very hard it is to be;

How hard to rouse faint will not yet reviving;

To do the pure thing, trusting all to thee;

To hold thou art there, for all no face we see;

How hard to think, through cold and dark and dearth,

That thou art nearer now than when eye-seen on earth.