Words fail it, but it is a thought
Which by itself is bliss.
Sweet thought, lie closer to my heart!
That I may feel thee near,
As one who for his weapon feels
In some nocturnal fear.
Mostly in hours of gloom thou com'st,
When sadness makes us lowly,
As though thou wert the echo sweet
Of humble melancholy.
I bless thee. Lord, for this kind check
To spirits over free!
More helpless need of thee!
And for all things that make me feel
FREDERICK WILLIAM FABER.
*
I SAW THEE.
"When thou wast under the fig-tree, I saw thee."
I Saw thee when, as twilight fell,
And evening lit her fairest star,
Thy footsteps sought yon quiet dell,
The world's confusion left afar.
I saw thee when thou stood'st alone,
Where drooping branches thick o'erhung,
Thy still retreat to all unknown,
Hid in deep shadows darkly flung.
I saw thee when, as died each sound
Of bleating flock or woodland bird,
Kneeling, as if on holy ground,
Thy voice the listening silence heard.
I saw thy calm, uplifted eyes,
And marked the heaving of thy breast,
When rose to heaven thy heartfelt sighs
For purer life, for perfect rest.