Poems (Sharpless)/Gathered
GATHERED[Suggested by an epitaph mentioned in Fox's Journal.]
It was but a sweet white rose, Unfolding to sun and air;I watched it gently unclose, With many a yearning prayer.
One morning I sought my delight At earliest gleam of dawn;—But no blossom greeted my sight, The beautiful wonder was gone.
"Who hath gathered this bud?" I cried, Amid weeping that would not cease:—"The Master Himself," one replied; And in anguish I held my peace.