Page:Poems Craik.djvu/177

 Worshipped—not God: sought not alone His praise;
So he cut down my gourd while it was green.

And then He o'er me threw His holy shade,
 That though no other mortal plants might grow,
 Mocking the beauty that was long laid low,
I dwelt in peace, and His commands obeyed.

I thank Him for all joy and for all pain:
 For healed pangs, for years of calm content:
 For blessedness of spending and being spent
In His high service where all loss is gain.

I bless Him for my life and for my death;
 But most, that in my death my life is crowned,
 Since I see there, with angels gathering round,
My angel. Ay, love, thou hast kept thy faith,

I mine. The golden portals will not close
 Like those of earth, between us. Reach thy hand!
 No miserere, sisters. Chant out grand
Te Deum laudamus. Now,—'t is all repose.