  I IS it the Fast which God approves, When I awhile for flesh eat fish, Changing one dainty dish For others no less good? Do angels smile and count it gain That I compose my laughing face To gravity for a brief space, Then straightway laugh again? Does Heaven take pleasure as I sit Counting my joys as usurers gold,— This bit to give, that to withhold, Weighing and measuring it; Setting off abstinence from dance As buying privilege of song; Calling six right and seven wrong, Compounding for the dull to-day By projects for to-morrow’s fun, Checking off each set task as done, Grudging a short delay? I cannot think that God will care For such observance; He can see The very inmost heart of me, And every secret there. But if I keep a truer Lent, Not heeding what I wear or eat, Not balancing the sour with sweet, Evenly abstinent, And lay my soul with all its stain Of travel from the year-long road, Between the healing hands of God To be made clean again; And put my sordid self away, Forgetting for a little space The petty prize, the eager race, Opening my darkness to the sun, Opening my narrow eyes to see The pain and need so close to me Which I had willed to shun; Praying God’s quickening grace to show The thing he fain would have me do, The errand that I may pursue And quickly rise and go;— If so I do it, starving pride, Fasting from sin instead of food, God will accept such Lent as good, And bless its Easter-tide. |
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