’Tis my Trysting-Place with the Divine.
And I fell at the feet of the Holy,
And above me a voice said: “Be mine.”
And there rose from the depths of my spirit
An echo—“My heart shall be thine.”
Do you ask how I live in the Valley?
I weep—and I dream—and I pray.
But my tears are as sweet as the dew-drops
That fall on the roses in May;
And my prayer, like a perfume from Censers,