So in the sinful streets, abstracted and alone, I with my secret self held communing of mine own. - Arthur Hugh Clough

And almost every one when age,
Disease, or sorrows strike him,
Inclines to think there is a God,
Or something very like Him.

Hope conquers cowardice, joy grief;
Or at least, faith unbelief.

Come back again, old heart! Ah me!
Methinks in those thy coward fears
There might, perchance, a courage be,
That fails in these the manlier years;
Courage to let the courage sink,
Itself a coward base to think,
Rather than not for heavenly light
Wait on to show the truly right.