III
BEFORE THE THRONE
When on thy brow I gaze and in thine eyes--
Eyes heavy-laden with the soul's desire,
Not passion-lit, but lit with Heav'n's own fire--
I have a vision of Love's Paradise.
Gazing, my tranced spirit straightway flies
Beyond the zone to which the stars aspire;
I hear the blent notes of the white-wing'd quire
Around Immortal Love triumphant rise.
And there I kneel before th' eternal throne
Of Love, whose light conceals him,--there I see,
Veiled in his sacred light, a face well known
To me on earth, now, yearning, bend o'er me.
Heaven's mystic veil, inwove of light and tone,
Conceals thee not, Beloved,--I know thee!
IV
WORSHIP
How poor is all my love, how great thy claim!
How weak the breath, the voice which would reveal
All that thy soul hath taught my soul to feel--
Longings profound,--deep thoughts without a name.
If God's self might be worshipped, without blame,
In His best works, then would I silent kneel
Watching thine eyes,--until my soul should steal
Back, unperceived, to regions whence it came!
If my whole life were but one thought of thee,
That thought the purest worship of my heart
And my soul's yearning blent; if at thy feet
I offered such a life, there still would be
Something to wish for,--something to complete
The measure of my love and thy desert.
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