This page has been validated.
ORIGINAL POEMS.
113
In mercy art thou closely drawn,
Lest too much light should kill;
We must await the golden dawn,
That sleeps on Zion’s hill.
The wish is good, the flesh is weak,
The spirit sick within,—
Confess, poor Heart, with sorrow meek
Thy bondage and thy sin:
That thou art all unfit to see,
What dwelleth there on high;
That such a sight is not for thee,
To gaze upon it nigh.
Thou seest God’s tokens ev’ry where,
Thou hear’st his call within,
Be patient, till his heav’nly care
Free thee from guilt and sin.
Then shalt thou gaze with eye serene,
And praise with voicing clear,
And perfect Love with cloudless mien
Shall cast out Doubt and Fear.
I
