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Intent upon the vision |
Of latitudes unknown. |
The angels, happening that way, |
This dusty heart espied; |
Tenderly took it up from toil |
And carried it to God. |
There, -- sandals for the barefoot; |
There, -- gathered from the gales, |
Do the blue havens by the hand |
Lead the wandering sails. |
XXIV. |
TOO MUCH. |
I should have been too glad, I see, |
Too lifted for the scant degree |
Of life's penurious round; |
My little circuit would have shamed |
This new circumference, have blamed |
The homelier time behind. |
I should have been too saved, I see, |
Too rescued; fear too dim to me |
That I could spell the prayer |
I knew so perfect yesterday, -- |
That scalding one, "Sabachthani," |
Recited fluent here. |
Earth would have been too much, I see, |
And heaven not enough for me; |
I should have had the joy |
Without the fear to justify, -- |
The palm without the Calvary; |
So, Saviour, crucify. |
Defeat whets victory, they say; |
The reefs in old Gethsemane |
Endear the shore beyond. |
'T is beggars banquets best define; |
'T is thirsting vitalizes wine, -- |
Faith faints to understand. |
XXV. |
SHIPWRECK. |
It tossed and tossed, -- |
A little brig I knew, -- |
O'ertook by blast, |
It spun and spun, |
And groped delirious, for morn. |
It slipped and slipped, |
As one that drunken stepped; |
Its white foot tripped, |
Then dropped from sight. |
Ah, brig, good-night |
To crew and you; |
The ocean's heart too smooth, too blue, |
To break for you. |
XXVI. |
Victory comes late, |
And is held low to freezing lips |
Too rapt with frost |
To take it. |
How sweet it would have tasted, |
Just a drop! |
Was God so economical? |
His table 's spread too high for us |
Unless we dine on tip-toe. |
Crumbs fit such little mouths, |
Cherries suit robins; |
The eagle's golden breakfast |
Strangles them. |
God keeps his oath to sparrows, |
Who of little love |
Know how to starve! |
XXVII. |
ENOUGH. |
God gave a loaf to every bird, |
But just a crumb to me; |
I dare not eat it, though I starve, -- |
My poignant luxury |
To own it, touch it, prove the feat |
That made the pellet mine, -- |
Too happy in my sparrow chance |
For ampler coveting. |
It might be famine all around, |
I could not miss an ear, |
Such plenty smiles upon my board, |
My garner shows so fair. |