And sin Thy Father's Face, while thou didst drink The bitter cup of death, didst taste thereof For every man; while Thou wast nigh to sink Beneath the intense intolerable rod, Grown sick of love; not what I am, but think Thy Life then ransomed mine, my God, my God. 70 GOOD FRIDAY Am I a stone and not a sheep That I can stand, O Christ, beneath Thy Cross, To number drop by drop Thy Blood's slow loss, And yet not weep? Not so those women loved Who with exceeding grief lamented Thee; Not so fallen Peter weeping bitterly; Not so the thief was moved; Not so the Sun and Moon Which hid their faces in a starless sky, 10 A horror of great darkness at broad noon-- I, only I. Yet give not o'er, But seek Thy sheep, true Shepherd of the flock; Greater than Moses, turn and look once more And smite a rock. THE LOWEST PLACE Give me the lowest place: not that I dare Ask for that lowest place, but Thou hast died That I might live and share Thy glory by Thy side. Give me the lowest place: or if for me That lowest place too high, make one more low Where I may sit and see My God and love Thee so. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 1848-69 DEATH'S CHILL BETWEEN (_Athenaeum_, October 14, 1848) Chide not; let me breathe a little, For I shall not mourn him long; Though the life-cord was so brittle, The love-cord was very strong. I would wake a little space Till I find a sleeping-place. You can go,--I shall not weep; You can go unto your rest. My heart-ache is all too deep, And too sore my throbbing breast. 10 Can sobs be, or angry tears, Where are neither hopes nor fears? Though with you I am alone And must be so everywhere, I will make no useless moan,-- None shall say 'She could not bear:' While life lasts I will be strong,-- But I shall not struggle long. Listen, listen! Everywhere A low voice is calling me, 20 And a step is on the stair, And one comes ye do not see, Listen, listen! Evermore A dim hand knocks at the door. Hear me; he is come again,-- My own dearest is come back. Bring him in from the cold rain; Bring wine, and let nothing lack. Thou and I will rest together, Love, until the sunny weather. 30 I will shelter thee from harm,-- Hide thee from all heaviness. Come to me, and keep thee warm By my side in quietness. I will lull thee to thy sleep With sweet songs:--we will not weep. Who hath talked of weeping?--Yet There is something at my heart, Gnawing, I would fain forget, And an aching and a smart. 40 --Ah! my mother, 'tis in vain, For he is _not_ come again. HEART'S CHILL BETWEEN (_Athenaeum_, October 21, 1848) I did not chide him, though I knew That he was false to me. Chide the exhaling of the dew, The ebbing of the sea, The fading of a rosy hue,-- But not inconstancy.