POEMS
387
| “When Love's rapt sense the heart-strings gently sweep, |
| With joy divinely fair, the high and deep, |
| To call her home. |
| She shall mount upward unto purer skies; |
| We shall be waiting, in what glad surprise, |
| Our spirits' own!” |
Love
| Brood o'er us with Thy sheltering wing, |
| 'Neath which our spirits blend |
| Like brother birds, that soar and sing, |
| And on the same branch bend. |
| The arrow that doth wound the dove |
| Darts not from those who watch and love. |
| If thou the bending reed wouldst break |
| By thought or word unkind, |
| Pray that his spirit you partake, |
| Who loved and healed mankind: |
| Seek holy thoughts and heavenly strain, |
| That make men one in love remain. |
| Learn, too, that wisdom's rod is given |
| For faith to kiss, and know; |
| That greetings glorious from high heaven, |
| Whence joys supernal flow, |
| Come from that Love, divinely near, |
| Which chastens pride and earth-born fear. |
