NOT in the hour of peril, thronged with foes, br Panting to set their heel upon my head,-- br Or when alone from many wounds I bled br Unflinching beneath Fortune's random blows; br Not when my shuddering hands were doomed to close br The unshrinking eyelids of the stony dead;-- br Not then I missed my God, not then--but said: br 'Let me not burden God with all man's woes!' br br But when resurgent from the womb of night br Spring's Oriflamme of flowers waves from the Sod; br When peak on flashing Alpine peak is trod br By sunbeams on their missionary flight; br When heaven-kissed Earth laughs, garmented in light;-- br That is the hour in which I miss my God.