There are two darknesses; one where the Lord

Hides beauty—that by which men know His face.

All, in that darkness, feel His fingers trace

Their features gently, and their hearts record

The feeling, as of one, whose eyes, restored,

Would see, but for the Father's close embrace.

The other is the outer dark—a place

Where hate turns black the light upon it poured.

O God! the only darkness that I dread,

Is where Thou art not—that where Hate's black fire

Surmounts the heavens, to burst with thunder dire

And, in its fall forever, drag the dead

Of heart and spirit—those whom Thy desire

Would fain have made the halo round Thy head.