Impromptu (IV)

Sorrow and sin, and suffering and strife,
  Have been cast in the waters of my life;
  And they have sunk deep down to the well-head,
  And all that flows thence is embitterèd.
  Yet still the fountain up towards heaven springs,
  And still the brook where'er it wanders sings;
  And still where'er it hath found leave to rest,
  The blessed sun looks down into its breast;
  And it reflects, as in a mirror fair,
  The image of all beauty shining there.