 | Louise de la Valliaere and other poems |  |
59
A TIRED HEART.
Dear Lord! if one should some day come to Thee,
Weary exceedingly, and poor, and worn,
With bleeding feet sore-pierced of many a thorn,
And lips athirst, and eyes too tired to see,
And, falling down before Thy face, should say:
“Lord, my day counts but as an idle day,
My hands have garnered fruit of no fair tree,
Empty am I of stores of oil and corn,
Broken am I and utterly forlorn,
Yet in Thy vineyard hast Thou room for me?”
Wouldst turn Thy face away?
Nay, Thou wouldst lift Thy lost sheep tenderly.
Weary exceedingly, and poor, and worn,
With bleeding feet sore-pierced of many a thorn,
And lips athirst, and eyes too tired to see,
And, falling down before Thy face, should say:
“Lord, my day counts but as an idle day,
My hands have garnered fruit of no fair tree,
Empty am I of stores of oil and corn,
Broken am I and utterly forlorn,
Yet in Thy vineyard hast Thou room for me?”
Wouldst turn Thy face away?
Nay, Thou wouldst lift Thy lost sheep tenderly.
“Lord! Thou art pale, as one that travaileth,
And Thy wounds bleed where feet and hands were riven;
Thou hast lain all these years, in balms of Heaven,
Since Thou wert broken in the arms of Death,
And these have healed not!” “Child! be comforted.
I trod the winepress where thy feet have bled;
Yea, on the Cross, I cried with mighty breath,
Thirsting for thee, whose love was elsewhere given,
I, God, have followed thee from dawn to even,
With yearning heart, by many a moor and heath,
My sheep that wanderèd!
Now on My breast, Mine arm its head beneath.”
And Thy wounds bleed where feet and hands were riven;
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Since Thou wert broken in the arms of Death,
And these have healed not!” “Child! be comforted.
I trod the winepress where thy feet have bled;
Yea, on the Cross, I cried with mighty breath,
Thirsting for thee, whose love was elsewhere given,
I, God, have followed thee from dawn to even,
With yearning heart, by many a moor and heath,
My sheep that wanderèd!
Now on My breast, Mine arm its head beneath.”
Then, if this stricken one cried out to Thee,
“Now mine eyes see that Thou art passing fair,
And Thy face marred of men beyond compare,”
And so should fall to weeping bitterly,
With, “Lord, I longed for other love than Thine,
And my feet followed earthly lovers fine,
Turning from where Thy gaze entreated me;
Now these grow cold, and wander otherwhere,
And I, heart-empty, poor, and sick, and bare,
Loved of no lover, turn at last to Thee;”—
Wouldst stretch Thine hands divine,
And stroke the bowed head very pityingly?
“Now mine eyes see that Thou art passing fair,
And Thy face marred of men beyond compare,”
And so should fall to weeping bitterly,
With, “Lord, I longed for other love than Thine,
And my feet followed earthly lovers fine,
Turning from where Thy gaze entreated me;
Now these grow cold, and wander otherwhere,
And I, heart-empty, poor, and sick, and bare,
Loved of no lover, turn at last to Thee;”—
Wouldst stretch Thine hands divine,
And stroke the bowed head very pityingly?
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“Will not My love suffice, though great thy pain?”
“Ah, Lord! all night without a lighted house,
While some within held revel and carouse,
My lost heart wandered in the wind and rain,
And moaned unheard amid the tempest's din.”
“Peace, peace! if one had oped to let thee in,
Perchance this hour were lost for that hour's gain;
Wouldst thou have sought Me then, with thy new vows?
Ah, child! I too, with bleeding feet and brows,
Knocked all the night at a heart's door in vain,
And saw the dawn begin,
On My gold head the dews have left a stain.”
“Ah, Lord! all night without a lighted house,
While some within held revel and carouse,
My lost heart wandered in the wind and rain,
And moaned unheard amid the tempest's din.”
“Peace, peace! if one had oped to let thee in,
Perchance this hour were lost for that hour's gain;
Wouldst thou have sought Me then, with thy new vows?
Ah, child! I too, with bleeding feet and brows,
Knocked all the night at a heart's door in vain,
And saw the dawn begin,
On My gold head the dews have left a stain.”
| Louise de la Valliaere and other poems | |