The Last Poem.
Thus speaks the suffering body to the patient soul.
With the wings of longing when wilt thou fly
To the hills of the glorious land on high,
To Christ thine eternal love?
Thank Him for me, though vile I be,
That His grace for me hath a share;
That He took our sorrows and felt our need,
That we are His love and care.
Ask Him, that safe in his tender Hand