But hard the task I undertake,
   With mortal tongue to reach
The utterance of my Love, and make
Her high immortal meaning break
   To clearness through my speech!

I can no more, with glimmering trope
   That into darkness runs,
Reveal its depth, than they could hope,
Who on in lifelong blindness grope,
   To sing of rising suns.

“Or e’er that life my King had lent
   Was lifted into rest,
His message through my lips He sent,
And on thy path His glory went
   To guide thee to the blessed.

“But thou didst turn thy face, and scorn
   His grace divine as nought;
And set thy gaze to earth forlorn,
And rage at fate, till gaunt and worn,
   Death mouldered in thy thought.

“Thou, blindly gross, didst toy with clay,
   And in the ghastly gleam
Of charnel gloom didst kiss decay;
And many full moons waned away,
   And left thee in thy dream.

“For with thy Lily’s worldly dress
   Thou didst thine eyesight fill;
And scorn to know its loveliness
Were but an empty boast unless
   Made living by His will.

“Thou mourn’dst not most the vanished soul
   Which was my Lord’s through thine;
But more the broken pleasure-bowl,
Whose golden richness shed, when whole,
   Its splendour in thy wine.

“And therefore living wert thou made
   To taste the cup of death;
And therefore did the glory fade,
From guidance into deadly shade
   That iced thy shuddering breath.

“Permitted, now I come to thee: 
   I warn thee of thy sin;
I urge thee cleanse thine eyesight free,
That purified thy soul may see
   The way his love to win.

“His love incomprehensible
   Did never turn away
From penitent whom harm befell;
But springeth like a desert well
   For thirsting poor estray.

“Let him who scorneth mercy shown,
   Unhappy one, beware! 
For whoso lives in pride alone,
His pride shall harden to a stone
   Too great for him to bear.

“And whoso, having warned been,
   Refuseth still to turn,
Behind his shadow, shrunken mean,
A poring spectre shall be seen
   With livid stare and girn.

“Thou troubled one, who unto me
   Art next my Lord’s own grace,
O turn to Him, and He will be
A refuge from thy misery,
   A smile upon thy face!

“A righteous strength will nerve thine arm,
   And courage fill thy breast: 
And having bravely warred on harm,
The cries of victory shall charm
   Thy dying eyes to rest.

“And succoured ones shall praise his name
   Who, toiling for them, died. 
And, nobly sung, his honest fame
Shall beat in hearts unborn, and claim
   Their love and grateful pride.

“And Love will lead her sacrifice
   To where a shining row
Stand beckoning to the heights of bliss;
And she will clasp his hands and kiss
   Welcome upon his brow.”