Classic Poem

Who would wish back the Saints upon our rough
Wearisome road?
Wish back a breathless soul
Just at the goal?
My soul, praise God
For all dear souls which have enough.

I would not fetch one back to hope with me
A hope deferred,
To taste a cup that slips
From thirsting lips: —
Hath he not heard
And seen what was to hear and see?

How could I stand to answer the rebuke
If one should say:
" O friend of little faith,
Good was my death,
And good my day
Of rest, and good the sleep I took " ?