Page:The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter.djvu/279

Not at my door then must you cry complaining
Your lot unjust.
But His who thrust
You from His door, your body maiming.

Not mine the pleasure that you bear this pain.
Hurled into being
Without hope of freeing
By grief and patience a soul for any gain.
Thus I reproached God while I tended
The sores to healing.
A voice stealing
And whispering out of the beast I friended,

Said, “God had quickened my flesh, bestowing
Joys without measure,
Made for its pleasure,
An Eden's garden for ever glowing.
Gave me to Man, his care and protection
To gain and to give,
And bid us so live
In united bonds of help and affection.

“Man wrecked our garden, so we were hurled
Out from the skies
Of Paradise
Into the sorrows of a weeping world
He forgets my care; I, as God has said,
Give still afiEection
For that connection
Which into all our bodies life has breathed.

“And why are you abusing God, and praising
With mock effacement
And false abasement
Your own heart's kindness, deeming it amazing
That you should do this duty for my sake,