This versing, even the reading of the tale That brings my heart its joy unspeakable, Sometimes will softly, unsuspectedly hale That heart from thee, and all its pulses quell. Discovery's pride, joy's bliss, take aback my sail, And sweep me from thy presence and my grace, Because my eyes dropped from the master's face. 15. Afresh I seek thee. Lead me--once more I pray-- Even should it be against my will, thy way. Let me not feel thee foreign any hour, Or shrink from thee as an estranged power. Through doubt, through faith, through bliss, through stark dismay, Through sunshine, wind, or snow, or fog, or shower, Draw me to thee who art my only day. 16. I would go near thee--but I cannot press Into thy presence--it helps not to presume. Thy doors are deeds; the handles are their doing. He whose day-life is obedient righteousness, Who, after failure, or a poor success, Rises up, stronger effort yet renewing-- He finds thee, Lord, at length, in his own common room. 17. Lord, thou hast carried me through this evening's duty; I am released, weary, and well content. O soul, put on the evening dress of beauty, Thy sunset-flush, of gold and purple blent!-- Alas, the moment I turn to my heart, Feeling runs out of doors, or stands apart! But such as I am, Lord, take me as thou art. 18. The word he then did speak, fits now as then, For the same kind of men doth mock at it. God-fools, God-drunkards these do call the men Who think the poverty of their all not fit, Borne humbly by their art, their voice, their pen, Save for its allness, at thy feet to fling, For whom all is unfit that is not everything. 19. O Christ, my life, possess me utterly. Take me and make a little Christ of me. If I am anything but thy father's son, 'Tis something not yet from the darkness won. Oh, give me light to live with open eyes. Oh, give me life to hope above all skies. Give me thy spirit to haunt the Father with my cries. 20. 'Tis hard for man to rouse his spirit up-- It is the human creative agony, Though but to hold the heart an empty cup, Or tighten on the team the rigid rein. Many will rather lie among the slain Than creep through narrow ways the light to gain-- Than wake the will, and be born bitterly. 21. But he who would be born again indeed, Must wake his soul unnumbered times a day, And urge himself to life with holy greed; Now ope his bosom to the Wind's free play; And now, with patience forceful, hard, lie still, Submiss and ready to the making will, Athirst and empty, for God's breath to fill. 22.