Thou wilt interpret life to me, and men, Art, nature, yea, my own soul's mysteries-- Bringing, truth out, clear-joyous, to my ken, Fair as the morn trampling the dull night. Then The lone hill-side shall hear exultant cries; The joyous see me joy, the weeping weep; The watching smile, as Death breathes on me his cold sleep. 9. I search my heart--I search, and find no faith. Hidden He may be in its many folds-- I see him not revealed in all the world Duty's firm shape thins to a misty wraith. No good seems likely. To and fro I am hurled. I have no stay. Only obedience holds:-- I haste, I rise, I do the thing he saith. 10. Thou wouldst not have thy man crushed back to clay; It must be, God, thou hast a strength to give To him that fain would do what thou dost say; Else how shall any soul repentant live, Old griefs and new fears hurrying on dismay? Let pain be what thou wilt, kind and degree, Only in pain calm thou my heart with thee. 11. I will not shift my ground like Moab's king, But from this spot whereon I stand, I pray-- From this same barren rock to thee I say, "Lord, in my commonness, in this very thing That haunts my soul with folly--through the clay Of this my pitcher, see the lamp's dim flake; And hear the blow that would the pitcher break." 12. Be thou the well by which I lie and rest; Be thou my tree of life, my garden ground; Be thou my home, my fire, my chamber blest, My book of wisdom, loved of all the best; Oh, be my friend, each day still newer found, As the eternal days and nights go round! Nay, nay--thou art my God, in whom all loves are bound! 13. Two things at once, thou know'st I cannot think. When busy with the work thou givest me, I cannot consciously think then of thee. Then why, when next thou lookest o'er the brink Of my horizon, should my spirit shrink, Reproached and fearful, nor to greet thee run? Can I be two when I am only one. 14. My soul must unawares have sunk awry. Some care, poor eagerness, ambition of work, Some old offence that unforgiving did lurk, Or some self-gratulation, soft and sly-- Something not thy sweet will, not the good part, While the home-guard looked out, stirred up the old murk, And so I gloomed away from thee, my Heart. 15. Therefore I make provision, ere I begin To do the thing thou givest me to do, Praying,--Lord, wake me oftener, lest I sin. Amidst my work, open thine eyes on me, That I may wake and laugh, and know and see Then with healed heart afresh catch up the clue, And singing drop into my work anew. 16.