XXIX.
FILIA MARIÆ.
One thought alone 'mid all this sea
Of vernal bliss disturbs my breast:
What have I suffered, Lord, for Thee,
Or how my love aright confessed?
Command me tasks that Love may show
He needs no violet-scented bowers;
Some pain to bear, some joy forego,
Some task, not chos'n, of arduous hours.
I mused upon Thy work and Thee:
Hardness I sought, and shunned delights:
Where blows the flower and sucks the bee
I found Thee not; I clomb the heights.
Them, too, I feared; to city-ways
I fled; hot court, and fevered stair:
There too were beauty, love, and praise:
The Saviour's bleeding steps were there.
