CONFERENCE BETWEEN CHRIST, THE SAINTS, AND THE SOUL
(_Lyra Eucharistica_, 1863.)
I am pale with sick desire,
For my heart is far away
From this world's fitful fire
And this world's waning day;
In a dream it overleaps
A world of tedious ills
To where the sunshine sleeps
On th' everlasting hills.
Say the Saints--There Angels ease us
Glorified and white. 10
They say--We rest in Jesus,
Where is not day nor night.
My Soul saith--I have sought
For a home that is not gained,
I have spent yet nothing bought,
Have laboured but not attained;
My pride strove to rise and grow,
And hath but dwindled down;
My love sought love, and lo!
Hath not attained its crown. 20
Say the Saints--Fresh Souls increase us,
None languish nor recede.
They say--We love our Jesus,
And He loves us indeed.
I cannot rise above,
I cannot rest beneath,
I cannot find out Love,
Nor escape from Death;
Dear hopes and joys gone by
Still mock me with a name; 30
My best beloved die
And I cannot die with them.
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