| O GOD, where does this tend—these struggling aims? | |
| What would I have? What is this ‘sleep’, which seems | |
| To bound all? can there be a ‘waking’ point | |
| Of crowning life? The soul would never rule— | |
| It would be first in all things—it would have | 5 |
| Its utmost pleasure filled,—but that complete | |
| Commanding for commanding sickens it. | |
| The last point I can trace is, rest beneath | |
| Some better essence than itself—in weakness; | |
| This is ‘myself’—not what I think should be | 10 |
| And what is that I hunger for but God? | |
| My God, my God! let me for once look on thee | |
| As tho’ nought else existed: we alone. | |
| And as creation crumbles, my soul’s spark | |
| Expands till I can say, ‘Even from myself | 15 |
| I need thee, and I feel thee, and I love thee; | |
| I do not plead my rapture in thy works | |
| For love of thee—or that I feel as one | |
| Who cannot die—but there is that in me | |
| Which turns to thee, which loves, or which should love.’ | 20 |
| |
| Why have I girt myself with this hell-dress? | |
| Why have I laboured to put out my life? | |
| Is it not in my nature to adore, | |
| And e’en for all my reason do I not | |
| Feel him, and thank him, and pray to him—now? | 25 |
| Can I forgo the trust that he loves me? | |
| Do I not feel a love which only ONE… | |
| O thou pale form, so dimly seen, deep-eyed, | |
| I have denied thee calmly—do I not | |
| Pant when I read of thy consummate deeds, | 30 |
| And burn to see thy calm pure truths out-flash | |
| The brightest gleams of earth’s philosophy? | |
| Do I not shake to hear aught question thee? | |
| If I am erring save me, madden me, | |
| Take from me powers and pleasures—let me die. | 35 |
| Ages, so I see thee: I am knit round | |
| As with a charm, by sin and lust and pride, | |
| Yet tho’ my wandering dreams have seen all shapes | |
| Of strange delight, oft have I stood by thee— | |
| Have I been keeping lonely watch with thee | 40 |
| In the damp night by weeping Olivet, | |
| Or leaning on thy bosom, proudly less— | |
| Or dying with thee on the lonely cross— | |
| Or witnessing thy bursting from the tomb! | |
