He Loves Me Like That

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Because thou hast the power and own’st the grace 
To look through and behind this mask of me 
(Against which years have beat thus blanchingly 
With their rains), and behold my soul’s true face, 
The dim and weary witness of life’s race,—
Because thou hast the faith and love to see, 
Through that same soul’s distracting lethargy, 
The patient angel waiting for a place 
In the new Heavens,–because nor sin nor woe, 
Nor God’s infliction, nor death’s neighbourhood, 
Nor all which others viewing, turn to go, 
Nor all which makes me tired of all, self-viewed,–
Nothing repels thee,…Dearest, teach me so 
To pour out gratitude, as thou dost, good! Continue reading “He Loves Me Like That”

Stories

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I lived with visions for my company, 
Instead of men and women, years ago,
And found them gentle mates, nor thought to know
A sweeter music than they played to me. 
But soon their trailing purple was not free 
Of this world’s dust,— their lutes did silent grow, 
And I myself grew faint and blind below 
Their vanishing eyes. Then THOU didst come … to be, 
Beloved, what they seemed. Their shining fronts,
Their songs, their splendours, (better, yet the same, 
As river-water hallowed into fonts)
Met in thee, and from out thee overcame 
My soul with satisfaction of all wants —
Because God’s gifts put man’s best dreams to shame.  Continue reading “Stories”