  decorative OH, do not say that thanklessness has been Thy sole reward! What? Wouldst thou be rewarded? When God had laid the gift into thy heart, Thy hand, upon the road thou hadst to tread? Lay all thy thanks before the feet of him Who did not shun thy help, thy gift, thy love, But bore the humiliation and the weakness, And bared his heart before thy human gaze, The heart where none but God e'er read the truth, Thyself, and touch not roughly, where the wound Is open, see the beads of anguish on The furrowed brow, the tightdrawn lips, and hear The tremor in the whispered words, that roll So heavily from off the heart, and leave It crushed, sometimes for ever. Dost thou know What lifeblood it hath cost to speak to thee, What tortured nights have gone before, what cry Of anguish rose towards that God, who seemed So merciless to him and overkind To thee, allowing thee to be his angel, To answer when a living word of love Had to be spoken, and a hand put out to help. Make him forget what he has told thee, Let him not feel that thou hast not forgotten, The pain, the care, the fear; allow him then To tend thee, and to pay his debt to thy Humility, and to thy thankfulness. |
|
