| Nicholson & Lee, eds. The Oxford Book of English Mystical Verse. 1917. |
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| 288. Love, the Tempter |
| By Laurence Housman (b. 1865) |
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(Season of Lent)
OH, tempt me not! I love too well this snare | |
| Of silken cords. | |
| Nay, Love, the flesh is fair; | |
| So tempt me not! This earth affords | |
| Too much delight; | 5 |
| Withdraw Thee from my sight, | |
| Lest my weak soul break free | |
| And throw me back to Thee! | |
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| Thy Face is all too marred. Nay, Love, not I— | |
| I did not that! Doubtless Thou hadst to die: | 10 |
| Others did faint for Thee; but I faint not. | |
| Only a little while hath sorrow got | |
| The better of me now; for Thou art grieved, | |
| Thinking I need Thee. Oh, Christ, lest I fall | |
| Weeping between Thy Feet, and give Thee all: | 15 |
| Oh, Christ, lest love condemn me unreprieved | |
| Into Thy bondage, be it not believed | |
| That Thou hast need of me! | |
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| Dost Thou not know | |
| I never turned aside to mock Thy Woe? | 20 |
| I had respect to Thy great love for men: | |
| Why wilt Thou, then, | |
| Question of each new lust— | |
| ‘Are these not ashes, and is this not dust?’ | |
| Ah, Love, Thou hast not eyes | 25 |
| To see how sweet it is! | |
| Each for himself be wise: | |
| Mock not my bliss! | |
| Ere Thou cam’st troubling, was I not content? | |
| Because I pity Thee, and would be glad | 30 |
| To go mine own way, and not leave Thee sad, | |
| Is all my comfort spent? | |
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| Go Thine own ways, nor dream Thou needest me! | |
| Yet if, again, Thou on the bitter Tree | |
| Wert hanging now, with none to succour Thee | 35 |
| Or run to quench Thy sudden cry of thirst, | |
| Would not I be the first— | |
| Ah, Love, the prize!— | |
| To lift one cloud of suffering from Thine Eyes? | |
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| Oh, Christ, let be! | 40 |
| Stretch not Thine ever-pleading Hands thus wide, | |
| Nor with imperious gesture touch Thy Side! | |
| Past is Thy Calvary. By the Life that died, | |
| Oh, tempt not me! | |
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| Nay, if Thou weepest, then must I weep too, | 45 |
| Sweet Tempter, Christ! Yet what can I undo, | |
| I, the undone, the undone, | |
| To comfort Thee, God’s Son? | |
| Oh, draw me near, and, for some lowest use, | |
| That I may be | 50 |
| Lost and undone in Thee, | |
| Me from mine own self loose! | |
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