Exaggeration

We overstate the ills of life, and take

Imagination, given us to bring down

The choirs of singing angels overshone

By God's clear glory,—down our earth to rake

The dismal snows instead; flake following flake,

To cover all the corn. We walk upon

The shadow of hills across a level thrown,

And pant like climbers. Near the alderbrake

We sigh so loud, the nightingale within

Refuses to sing loud, as else she would.

O brothers! let us leave the shame and sin

Of taking vainly, in a plaintive mood,

The holy name of Grief!—holy herein,

That, by the grief of One, came all our good.