The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
 | I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
 | VII. |
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SIN,—AND FORGIVENESS
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| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
311
SIN,—AND FORGIVENESS
A gift was given us once, a gift most rare,
To keep:
A child, with God's own sunshine in her hair
And God's own heart of love most pure and deep.
To keep:
A child, with God's own sunshine in her hair
And God's own heart of love most pure and deep.
We understood her not. Her ways were not
Like ours.
We understood her not, because she brought
Held tight in childish hands heaven's unknown flowers.
Like ours.
We understood her not, because she brought
Held tight in childish hands heaven's unknown flowers.
And, seeing that her flowers were not of earth
Indeed,
We pained her soul and mocked her simple mirth
And called her choicest flower a worthless weed.
Indeed,
We pained her soul and mocked her simple mirth
And called her choicest flower a worthless weed.
Her choicest sweetest flower was perfect trust,
Sublime:
A flower whose roots rebel against earth's dust
And sickly sand and waste infertile slime.
Sublime:
A flower whose roots rebel against earth's dust
And sickly sand and waste infertile slime.
312
This flower from heaven we wildly cast away:
We slew
Her childlike faith. What searching hand to-day
Shall find so sweet a flower where that plant grew?
We slew
Her childlike faith. What searching hand to-day
Shall find so sweet a flower where that plant grew?
We thought because the flower was pure and white
And frail,
Dreading excess of heat and ardent light,
That therefore was its scent of small avail.
And frail,
Dreading excess of heat and ardent light,
That therefore was its scent of small avail.
But we know better now. The angels sought
And seized
What first in heaven by sinless hands was wrought:
With what we heeded not God's heart was pleased.
And seized
What first in heaven by sinless hands was wrought:
With what we heeded not God's heart was pleased.
We would not have her flowers. She bore them back
To heaven:
Yet, passing, dropped one love-flower on the track
That we who slew might know ourselves forgiven.
To heaven:
Yet, passing, dropped one love-flower on the track
That we who slew might know ourselves forgiven.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |