The sun had well nigh set. The fire was on the altar; and the priest Of the High God was there. A pallid man Was stretching out his trembling hands to heaven, As if he would have pray'd, but had no words-- And she who was to die, the calmest one In Israel at that hour, stood up alone, And waited for the sun to set. Her face Was pale, but very beautiful--her lip Had a more delicate outline, and the tint Was deeper; but her countenance was like The majesty of angels. The sun set-- And she was dead--but not by violence.
Lord, many times I am aweary quite Of mine own self, my sin, my vanity-- Yet be not Thou, or I am lost outright, Weary of me.
And hate against myself I often bear, And enter with myself in fierce debate: Take Thou my part against myself, nor share In that just hate!
Best friends might loathe us, if what things perverse We know of our own selves, they also knew: Lord, Holy One! if Thou who knowest worse Shouldst loathe us too!
Let thy gold be cast in the furnace, Thy red gold, precious and bright; Do not fear the hungry fire, With its caverns of burning light; And thy gold shall return more precious, Free from every spot and stain; For gold must be tried by fire, As a heart must be tried by pain.
In the cruel fire of sorrow Cast thy heart, do not faint or wail; Let thy hand be firm and steady, Do not let thy spirit quail: But wait till the trial is over, And take thy heart again; For as gold is tried by fire, So a heart must be tried by pain!
I shall know by the gleam and glitter Of the golden chain you wear, By your heart's calm strength in loving, Of the fire they have had to bear. Beat on, true heart, forever; Shine bright strong golden chain; And bless the cleansing fire, And the furnace of living pain!
Thou art in heaven, and I am still on earth; 'Tis years, long years, since we were parted here, I still a wanderer amid grief and fear, And thou the tenant of a brighter sphere. Yet still thou seemest near; But yesterday it seems, Since the last clasp was given, Since our lips met, And our eyes looked into each other's depths.
Thou art amid the deathless, I still here, Amid things mortal, in a land of graves, A land o'er which the heavy-beating waves Of changing time move on, a land where raves The storm, which whoso braves Must have his anchor fixed Firmly within the vail--; So let my anchor be; Such be my consolation and my hope!