96
SONNETS.
II.
A year ago I bade my little son
Bear upon pilgrimage a heavy load
Of alms; he cried, half-fainting on the road,
"Mother, O mother, would the day were done"
Him I reproved with tears, and said, "Go on!
Nor pause nor murmur till thy task be o'er."—
Would not God say to me the same, and more?
I will not sing that song. Thou, dearest one,
Husband—no, brother!—stretch thy steadfast hand
And let mine grasp it. Now, I also stand,
My woman weakness nerved to strength like thine;
We 'll quaff life's aloe-cup as if 't were wine
Each to the other; journeying on apart,
Till at heaven's golden doors we two leap heart to heart.
Bear upon pilgrimage a heavy load
Of alms; he cried, half-fainting on the road,
"Mother, O mother, would the day were done"
Him I reproved with tears, and said, "Go on!
Nor pause nor murmur till thy task be o'er."—
Would not God say to me the same, and more?
I will not sing that song. Thou, dearest one,
Husband—no, brother!—stretch thy steadfast hand
And let mine grasp it. Now, I also stand,
My woman weakness nerved to strength like thine;
We 'll quaff life's aloe-cup as if 't were wine
Each to the other; journeying on apart,
Till at heaven's golden doors we two leap heart to heart.
