 | Louise de la Valliaere and other poems |  |
87
FAINT-HEARTED.
I stand where two roads part:
Lord! art Thou with me in the shadows here?
I cannot lift my heavy eyes to see.
Speak to me if Thou art!
I tremble, and my heart is cold with fear;
Dark is the way Thou hast appointed me.
Lord! art Thou with me in the shadows here?
I cannot lift my heavy eyes to see.
Speak to me if Thou art!
I tremble, and my heart is cold with fear;
Dark is the way Thou hast appointed me.
From the bright face of day
It winds far down a valley dark as death,
And shards and thorns await my shrinking feet;
An icy mist and grey
Comes to me, chilling me with awful breath;
How canst Thou say Thy yoke is light and sweet?
It winds far down a valley dark as death,
And shards and thorns await my shrinking feet;
An icy mist and grey
Comes to me, chilling me with awful breath;
How canst Thou say Thy yoke is light and sweet?
Nay, these are pale who go
Down the grey shadows; each one, tired and worn,
Bearing a cross that galleth him full sore;
And blood of this doth flow,
And that one's pallid brows are rayed with thorn,
And eyes are blind with weeping evermore.
Down the grey shadows; each one, tired and worn,
Bearing a cross that galleth him full sore;
88
And that one's pallid brows are rayed with thorn,
And eyes are blind with weeping evermore.
Still they press onward fast,
And the shades compass them; now, far away,
I see a great hill shaped like Calvary;
Will they come there at last?
A reflex from some far fair perfect day
Touches the high clear faces goldenly.
And the shades compass them; now, far away,
I see a great hill shaped like Calvary;
Will they come there at last?
A reflex from some far fair perfect day
Touches the high clear faces goldenly.
Ah! yonder path is fair,
And musical with many singing birds,
Large golden fruit and rainbow-coloured flowers
The wayside branches bear;
The air is murmurous with sweet love-words,
And hearts are singing through the happy hours.
And musical with many singing birds,
Large golden fruit and rainbow-coloured flowers
The wayside branches bear;
The air is murmurous with sweet love-words,
And hearts are singing through the happy hours.
Nay, I shall look no more.
Take Thou my hands between Thy firm fair hands
And still their trembling, and I shall not weep.
Some day, the journey o'er,
My feet shall tread the still safe evening-lands,
And Thou canst give to Thy beloved, sleep.
Take Thou my hands between Thy firm fair hands
And still their trembling, and I shall not weep.
Some day, the journey o'er,
My feet shall tread the still safe evening-lands,
And Thou canst give to Thy beloved, sleep.
89
And though Thou dost not speak,
And the mists hide Thee, now I know Thy feet
Will tread the path my feet walk wearily;
Some day the veil will break,
And sudden looking up, mine eyes shall meet
Thine eyes, and lo! Thine arms shall gather me.
And the mists hide Thee, now I know Thy feet
Will tread the path my feet walk wearily;
Some day the veil will break,
And sudden looking up, mine eyes shall meet
Thine eyes, and lo! Thine arms shall gather me.
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