At the sun’s call, Working with all my strength from early dawn, Through the long day, and then by candle-light Sewing on buttons while my eyes can see, I know the glory of God’s gracious face, And at His touch my weary hands grow strong, Hearing His voice my heart is glad and gay.
Before the choirs of angels burst to song, In night and loneliness your way you trod-- O valiant heart, O weary feet and strong, There are no easy by-paths unto God.
Darkness there was, thick darkness all around; Nor spoken word, nor hand to touch you knew, But One who walked the self-same stony ground And shared your dereliction there with you.
O valiant heart! O fixed, undaunted will! While all the heavens hung like brass above, You faltered not, but steadfast journeyed still Upon the road of sainthood to your Love.
And was not it reward exceeding great To kiss at last with passionate lips His side, His hands, His feet? O pomp! O regal state! O crown of life He gives unto His bride!
Lovers there are with roses chapleted, But more than theirs is your Lord’s loveliness; Your Love is crowned with thorns upon His head, And pain and sorrow woven is His dress.
As some priest turns, his ritual all done, And stretching hands above the kneeling crowd, Who rapt and silent, wait with heads all bowed For the last holy words of benison-- “Now God be with thee, ever Three in One”-- So turns the sun, though all reluctantly. One thrilling moment comes to shrub and tree; Expectant stillness falls; then dark and dun
The silhouettes of sphinx and pyramid Gaze at the last deep amber after-glow; The little stars peep down between the palms; And all the ghosts that garish daylight hid Are quickened--Isis with the breasts of snow And Antony with Egypt in his arms.
Shall I not wear my motley And flaunt my bladder of green Before the earls and the bishops And the laughing king and queen; Though hunger is in my belly And jests my lips between?
Men listen a moment idly To the foolishness I sing-- But my words are sharp and bitter In savour and in sting, And harder than mail in battle Where the heavy maces swing.
For full of the sap of folly Grow the branches of the Creed, The fine adventurous folly God gave us in our need, When He yielded up to scornful death The human brows that bleed.