I see thy temple in the skies
On pillars strong and white;
I cannot love it, though I rise
And try with all my might.
Sometimes a joy lays hold on me,
And I am speechless then;
Almost a martyr I could be,
And join the holy men.
But soon my heart is like a clod,
My spirit wrapt in doubt—
"A pillar in the house of God,
And never more go out!"
No more the sunny, breezy morn;
No more the speechless moon;
No more the ancient hills, forlorn,
A vision, and a boon.
Ah, God! my love will never burn,
Nor shall I taste thy joy;
And Jesus' face is calm and stern—
I am a hapless boy.
THE CHILD-MOTHER.
Heavily lay the warm sunlight
Upon the green blades shining bright,
An outspread grassy sea:
She through the burnished yellow flowers
Went walking in the golden hours
That slept upon the lea.
The bee went past her with a hum;
The merry gnats did go and come
In complicated dance;
Like a blue angel, to and fro,
The splendid dragon-fly did go,
Shot like a seeking glance.
She never followed them, but still
Went forward with a quiet will,
That got, but did not miss;
With gentle step she passed along,
And once a low, half-murmured song
Uttered her share of bliss.
It was a little maiden-child;
You see, not frolicsome and wild,
As such a child should be;
For though she was just nine, no more,
Another little child she bore,
Almost as big as she.