A Hopkins sonnet:
In the Valley of the Elwy
I remember a house where all were good
To me, God knows, deserving no such thing;
Comforting smell breathed at very entering,
Fetched fresh, as I suppose, off some sweet wood.
That cordial air made these kind people a hood
All over, as a bevy of eggs the mothering wing
Will, or mild nights the new morsels of Spring:
Why, it seemed of course; seemed of right it should.
Lovely the woods, waters, meadows, combes, vales,
All the air things wear that build this world of Wales;
Only the inmate does not correspond:
God, lover of souls, swaying considerate scales,
Complete thy creature dear O where it fails,
Being mighty a master, being father and fond.
And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ. -- Phil. 1:6