 | Uncollected verses by Francis Thompson |  |
14
TILL ALL MY LIFE LAY ROUND ME
Till all my life lay round me in great swathesLike grass about the mower,
Then, Lord, then
The miserable residue, by men
Cast forth contemptuously beside the ways,
The sweepings of my days
(Having, me now bethinketh,
My whole life long to Him some offering owed)
“These will I give to God.”
And didst Thou bid Thy splendours,
Keeping their wingèd ward,
To scourge the mad insulter from thy gate?
No, Thou didst say, O awful King:
“My child, I do accept thy offering.
Only this thing
I ask of thee—not more;
To cleanse it in the fire and with thy tears
Thy few remaining years.
And I will give the tears and give the fire,
And if thou tire
(Although they be few years)
Behold I will be with thee in thy tears,
Behold I will be with thee in the fire.”
| Uncollected verses by Francis Thompson | |