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A LETTER.
John Graham to the one who was his own
Sends greeting kind and half a broken ring,
And many her letters, and this last of his.
Sends greeting kind and half a broken ring,
And many her letters, and this last of his.
You know me, Alice Ker, and what I am,
So little, you may be surpris'd, I think,
To read the words that I have writ above,
As well as griev'd: I think you will be griev'd
A good deal; for you had made up your mind
To play the ministering angel here,
And comfort me and help me faithfully:
And, knowing I was blinded where I lay
Asleep for weariness, on time's great shore,
You would have suffer'd me to take you up
Within mine arms, and rested on me blind,
And, seeing for me, guided me across
The waste, and set me where the rising sun
Should smite mine eyeballs into sight again.
So little, you may be surpris'd, I think,
To read the words that I have writ above,
As well as griev'd: I think you will be griev'd
A good deal; for you had made up your mind
To play the ministering angel here,
And comfort me and help me faithfully:
And, knowing I was blinded where I lay
Asleep for weariness, on time's great shore,
You would have suffer'd me to take you up
Within mine arms, and rested on me blind,
And, seeing for me, guided me across
The waste, and set me where the rising sun
Should smite mine eyeballs into sight again.
This was your good intent, dear Alice Ker—
Ah, I am bitter—well, I will not be—
Nay, bounteous-brow'd and bounteous-hearted, nay,
I ask not for such largesse nor will take.
Ah, I am bitter—well, I will not be—
143
I ask not for such largesse nor will take.
I bar'd my heart before you, but you thought
'Twas cover'd still: the veil was on your eyes,
Or had I let you come too near to see?
'Twas cover'd still: the veil was on your eyes,
Or had I let you come too near to see?
Suppose the father of the prodigal,
Upon his way to meet the erring one,
Had chanc'd upon the elder son who ne'er
Had vext his soul for harlot-wasted goods,
And fallen upon his neck and pardon'd him
The faults and follies he committed not,
How could the young man take such love as that?
Had he not wrong'd his soul in taking it?
I say that self-abasement, undeserved,
Is but one shape of the damned Protean lie.
Upon his way to meet the erring one,
Had chanc'd upon the elder son who ne'er
Had vext his soul for harlot-wasted goods,
And fallen upon his neck and pardon'd him
The faults and follies he committed not,
How could the young man take such love as that?
Had he not wrong'd his soul in taking it?
I say that self-abasement, undeserved,
Is but one shape of the damned Protean lie.
So, Alice, is it now 'twixt you and me:
You fain would pardon, slay the fatted calf,
And bid me don the robe and ring and shoes.
I have not sinn'd and will not take such grace.
You fain would pardon, slay the fatted calf,
And bid me don the robe and ring and shoes.
I have not sinn'd and will not take such grace.
God never sets us level with His eyes,
Lest we go blind: but, in some shape of earth,
Veiling Himself, reveals Himself, or would
If we would, but, we willing not, He stands
Powerless, because He will not force our will.
What are these words betwixt us twain? Am I
A god? No—but, maybe, a veil of God,
And hence His revelation: yours, if so
You had will'd: you willing not, I take my way.
Lest we go blind: but, in some shape of earth,
Veiling Himself, reveals Himself, or would
If we would, but, we willing not, He stands
Powerless, because He will not force our will.
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A god? No—but, maybe, a veil of God,
And hence His revelation: yours, if so
You had will'd: you willing not, I take my way.
I lov'd you, dear, and love you passing well,
And yet I will not, cannot, say that life
Without you is a desert: God is here
And work; and God and work are all enough.
And I will work just as I should have done
With you to work beside me, even you
Who cannot fail to live a noble life,
Being noble through and through: and so, good-bye,
God bless you: so, good-bye, dear Alice Ker.
And yet I will not, cannot, say that life
Without you is a desert: God is here
And work; and God and work are all enough.
And I will work just as I should have done
With you to work beside me, even you
Who cannot fail to live a noble life,
Being noble through and through: and so, good-bye,
God bless you: so, good-bye, dear Alice Ker.
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