Jeremiah

“Woe’s me!” the peaceful prophet cried,
  “Spare me this troubled life;
To stem man’s wrath, to school his pride,
  To head the sacred strife!

“O place me in some silent vale,
  Where groves and flowers abound;
Nor eyes that grudge, nor tongues that rail,
  Vex the truth-haunted ground!”

If his meek spirit err’d, opprest
  That God denied repose,
What sin is ours, to whom Heaven’s rest
  Is pledged, to heal earth’s woes?