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HERTHA.
"But if we love—are loved in turn— How light becomes the largest weight!Now tell me, for I fain would learn, How shall we find such gentle fate?Alas! for love too many yearn, And all their days go desolate!"
No straight reply the maiden chose, But mused: "I saw a worm to-dayThat slept and fed upon a rose, Till something prompted it to stray;Slow creeping thence, it lost repose, And piercing thorns were in the way!"
Her thought I seized: God's love being ours, Still on a fadeless rose we feed!We bask in light, we bathe in showers; No softer couch our spirits need.Thence creeping—ah we find no flowers! But thorns are sharp and hearts must bleed.
Within my arms the child I drew; She kissed away my bursting tears;"O Rose," I cried, "yet fair and new, Though left for thorns these many years!My heart receives thy falling dew, My climbing soul thy beauty nears!"
