And teach thine errant heart the way,
With conscience shriven of its sin,
Thine angel’s feet might tread some day?
Hadst thou to love no faith to give?
And knew’st thou not love’s wondrous gift—
The things for which ’twere best to live
To win, to weigh, to sort and sift?
Whatever act of thine did raise
A love-thought thou allow’d’st to die
Will wither in thine own dispraise