1.
WHAT though my words glance sideways from the thing Which I would utter in thine ear, my sire!
Truth in the inward parts thou dost desire--Wise hunger, not a fitness fine of speech:
The little child that clamouring fails to reach With upstretched hand the fringe of her attire, Yet meets the mother's hand down hurrying.
2.
Even when their foolish words they turned on him, He did not his disciples send away;
He knew their hearts were foolish, eyes were dim, And therefore by his side needs must they stay.
Thou will not, Lord, send me away from thee.
When I am foolish, make thy cock crow grim;
If that is not enough, turn, Lord, and look on me.
3.
Another day of gloom and slanting rain!
Of closed skies, cold winds, and blight and bane!
Such not the weather, Lord, which thou art fain To give thy chosen, sweet to heart and brain!--Until we mourn, thou keep'st the merry tune;
Thy hand unloved its pleasure must restrain, Nor spoil both gift and child by lavishing too soon.
4.
But all things shall be ours! Up, heart, and sing.
All things were made for us--we are God's heirs--Moon, sun, and wildest comets that do trail A crowd of small worlds for a swiftness-tail!
Up from Thy depths in me, my child-heart bring--The child alone inherits anything:
God's little children-gods--all things are theirs!
5.
Thy great deliverance is a greater thing Than purest imagination can foregrasp;
A thing beyond all conscious hungering, Beyond all hope that makes the poet sing.
It takes the clinging world, undoes its clasp, Floats it afar upon a mighty sea, And leaves us quiet with love and liberty and thee.
6.
Through all the fog, through all earth's wintery sighs, I scent Thy spring, I feel the eternal air, Warm, soft, and dewy, filled with flowery eyes, And gentle, murmuring motions everywhere--Of life in heart, and tree, and brook, and moss;
Thy breath wakes beauty, love, and bliss, and prayer, And strength to hang with nails upon thy cross.
7.
If thou hadst closed my life in seed and husk, And cast me into soft, warm, damp, dark mould, All unaware of light come through the dusk, I yet should feel the split of each shelly fold, Should feel the growing of my prisoned heart, And dully dream of being slow unrolled, And in some other vagueness taking part.
8.
And little as the world I should foreknow Up into which I was about to rise--Its rains, its radiance, airs, and warmth, and skies, How it would greet me, how its wind would blow--As little, it may be, I do know the good Which I for years half darkling have pursued--The second birth for which my nature cries.
9.
The life that knows not, patient waits, nor longs:--I know, and would be patient, yet would long.
I can be patient for all coming songs, But let me sing my one monotonous song.
To me the time is slow my mould among;
To quicker life I fain would spur and start The aching growth at my dull-swelling heart.
10.
Christ is the pledge that I shall one day see;
That one day, still with him, I shall awake, And know my God, at one with him and free.
O lordly essence, come to life in me;
The will-throb let me feel that doth me make;
Now have I many a mighty hope in thee, Then shall I rest although the universe should quake.
11.
Haste to me, Lord, when this fool-heart of mine Begins to gnaw itself with selfish craving;
Or, like a foul thing scarcely worth the saving, Swoln up with wrath, desireth vengeance fine.
Haste, Lord, to help, when reason favours wrong;
Haste when thy soul, the high-born thing divine, Is torn by passion's raving, maniac throng.
12.
Fair freshness of the God-breathed spirit air, Pass through my soul, and make it strong to love;
Wither with gracious cold what demons dare Shoot from my hell into my world above;
Let them drop down, like leaves the sun doth sear, And flutter far into the inane and bare, Leaving my middle-earth calm, wise, and clear.
13.
Even thou canst give me neither thought nor thing, Were it the priceless pearl hid in the land, Which, if I fix thereon a greedy gaze, Becomes not poison that doth burn and cling;
Their own bad look my foolish eyes doth daze, They see the gift, see not the giving hand-->From the living root the apple dead I wring.
14.
This versing, even the reading of the tale That brings my heart its joy unspeakable, Sometimes will softly, unsuspectedly hale That heart from thee, and all its pulses quell.
Discovery's pride, joy's bliss, take aback my sail, And sweep me from thy presence and my grace, Because my eyes dropped from the master's face.
15.
Afresh I seek thee. Lead me--once more I pray--Even should it be against my will, thy way.
Let me not feel thee foreign any hour, Or shrink from thee as an estranged power.
Through doubt, through faith, through bliss, through stark dismay, Through sunshine, wind, or snow, or fog, or shower, Draw me to thee who art my only day.
16.
