Desideravi
Lest, tortured by the world's strong sin,
Her little bruised heart should die —
Give her your heart to shelter in,
O earth and sky!
Kneel, sun, to clothe her round about
With rays to keep her body warm;
And, kind moon, shut the shadows out
That work her harm.
Yes, even shield her from my will's
Wild folly — hold her safe and close! —
For my rough hand in touching spills
Life from the rose.
But teach me, too, that I may learn
Your passion classical and cool;
To me, who tremble so and burn,
Be pitiful!
[Laus Deo!]
Praise! that when thick night circled over me
In chaos ere my time or world began,
Thy finger shaped my body cunningly,
Thy thought conceived me ere I was a man!
Thy Spirit breathed upon me in the dark
Wherein I strangely grew,
Bestowing glowing powers to the spark
The mouth of heaven blew!
Praise! that a babe I leapt upon the world
Spread at my feet in its magnificence,
With trees as giants, flowers as flags unfurled.
And rains as diamonds in their excellence!
Praise! for the solemn splendour of surprise
That came with breaking day;
For all the ranks of stars that met my eyes
When sunset burned away!
Praise! that there burst on my unfolding heart
The coloured radiance of leafy June,
With choirs of song-birds perfected in art,
And nightingales beneath the summer moon —
Praise! that this beauty, an unravished bride
Doth hold her lover still;
Doth hide and beckon, laugh at me, and hide
Upon each grassy hill.
Praise! that I know the dear capricious sky
In every infinitely varied mood —
Yet under her maternal wings can lie
The smallest chick among her countless brood!
Praise! that I hear the strong winds wildly race
Their chariots on the sea,
But feel them lift my hair and stroke my face
Softly and tenderly!
Praise! for the joy and gladness thou didst send,
When I have sat in gracious fellowship
In firelight for an evening with a friend.
When wine and magic entered at the lip!
For laughter which the fates can overthrow
Thy mercy doth accord —
To Thee, who didst my godlike joy bestow,
I lift my glass, O Lord!
Praise! that a lady leaning from her height,
A lady pitiful, a tender maid,
A queen majestical unto my sight,
Spoke words of love to me, and sweetly laid
Her hand within my own unworthy hand!
(Rise, soul, to greet thy guest,
Mysterious love, whom none shall understand,
Though love be all confessed!)
Praise! that upon my bent and bleeding back
Was stretched some share of Thy redeeming cross,
Some poverty as largess for my lack,
Some loss that shall prevent my utter loss!
Praise! that thou gavest me to keep joy sweet
The sanguine salt of pain!
Praise! for the weariness of questing feet
That else might quest in vain!