And now when from the shore goes out the ship
Wherein is set the treasure that I hold
Closer than miser all his hidden gold,
Dearer than wine Zeus carried to his lip;

My aching heart cries from its pent-up pain,—
“O Love, O Life, O more than life to me,
How can I live without the surety
Of thy sweet presence till we meet again!”
So like a wounded deer I came to thee,
The arrow of mischance piercing my side;
And through thy sorrow-healing ministry

I rose with strength, like giants in their pride.
But now—but now—how shall I stand alone,
Knowing the light, the hope of me is gone?