LENT.

IS it the Fast which God approves,

When I awhile for flesh eat fish,

Changing one dainty dish

For others no less good?

Do angels smile and count it gain

That I compose my laughing face

To gravity for a brief space,

Then straightway laugh again?

Does Heaven take pleasure as I sit

Counting my joys as usurers gold,—

This bit to give, that to withhold,

Weighing and measuring it;

Setting off abstinence from dance

As buying privilege of song;

Calling six right and seven wrong,

With decorous countenance;

Compounding for the dull to-day

By projects for to-morrow’s fun,

Checking off each set task as done,

Grudging a short delay?

I cannot think that God will care

For such observance; He can see

The very inmost heart of me,

And every secret there.

But if I keep a truer Lent,

Not heeding what I wear or eat,

Not balancing the sour with sweet,

Evenly abstinent,

And lay my soul with all its stain

Of travel from the year-long road,

Between the healing hands of God

To be made clean again;

And put my sordid self away,

Forgetting for a little space

The petty prize, the eager race,

The restless, striving day;

Opening my darkness to the sun,

Opening my narrow eyes to see

The pain and need so close to me

Which I had willed to shun;

Praying God’s quickening grace to show

The thing he fain would have me do,

The errand that I may pursue

And quickly rise and go;—

If so I do it, starving pride,

Fasting from sin instead of food,

God will accept such Lent as good,

And bless its Easter-tide.