Lines Written In London

Struggle not with thy life!—the heavy doom
  Resist not, it will bow thee like a slave:
  Strive not! thou shalt not conquer; to thy tomb
  Thou shalt go crushed, and ground, though ne'er so brave.
  Complain not of thy life!—for what art thou
  More than thy fellows, that thou shouldst not weep?
  Brave thoughts still lodge beneath a furrowed brow,
  And the way-wearied have the sweetest sleep.
  Marvel not at thy life!—patience shall see
  The perfect work of wisdom to her given;
  Hold fast thy soul through this high mystery,
  And it shall lead thee to the gates of heaven.