Helen Hunt Jackson (1830–1885)

O LOVE is weak

Which counts the answers and the gains,

Weighs all the losses and the pains,

And eagerly each fond word drains

A joy to seek.

When Love is strong,

It never tarries to take heed,

Or know if its return exceed

Its gifts; in its sweet haste no greed,

No strifes belong.

It hardly asks

If it be loved at all; to take

So barren seems, when it can make

Such bliss, for the belovèd sake,

Of bitter tasks.

Its ecstasy

Could find hard death so beauteous,

It sees through tears how Christ loved us,

And speaks, in saying “I love thus,”

No blasphemy.

So much we miss

If love is weak, so much we gain

If love is strong, God thinks no pain

Too sharp or lasting to ordain

To teach us this.