IN A ROOM OF SICKNESS.
31
Thence imbibing heavenly love, had lain—
He, a pale sad watcher—
Met with looks of anguish,
All the anguish in thy last meek glance—
Dying Son of Man!
Oh! therefore unto thee,
Thou that hast known all woes
Bound in the girdle of mortality!
Thou that wilt lift the reed
Which storms have bruis'd,
To thee may sorrow through each conflict cry,
And, in that tempest-hour when love and life
Mysteriously must part,
When tearful eyes
Are passionately bent
To drink earth's last fond meaning from our gaze—
Then, then forsake us not!
Shed on our spirits then
The faith and deep submissiveness of thine!
