My deeds I will endow, My spirit render clean, O Truth, with thee; and thou Wilt make the desert green; And haply show withal The wells that will not sink, Sweet pastures for the soul, And in the desert drink. Confounded by these briars, Thy stars will compass me And be the beacon fires To light mine eyes to thee. II But in my state infirm That Spirit comes and cries To me in wrath, ‘O worm, They see not who have eyes, How thou that hast not? Know, My children drink the sun, Taking them wings to go Where others walk or run: Yet scarcely one life-taught Can ever rightly heed The issue of a thought Or do a fruitful deed.’ * * * * * DESPAIRS I I call no curse on fate, I call no curse on thee, O barren bitter state Of exile, such to me. I would but only this: I wish that I could go And see the thing that is, And, seeing, better know; And take things in my hand And find if false or fit; But in this far-off land What hope is there of it? There is no hope of it; I see but sad despair, Unless it may be writ God cureth care by care. So one in prison thrust; He ages span by span, But in the prison dust Becomes a better man. So one is blind from birth; All day he sitteth still; He cannot see the earth, But heaven when he will. II I thought that I might rise And, looking to the stars, Lift up my blinded eyes And bless God unawares, In words whose merit this— Poor buds of blighting air— To know no loveliness But breathe the scent of prayer; Since Heaven hath decreed Who suffers lives with God, And he who writes indeed Must write in his own blood I thought, tho’ fetter’d fast, I yet might move my hands To cast or to recast Some labour—sift the sands For knowledge—search the vast Some hidden hope to find— Perhaps to help at last The cause of humankind. O hope abandon’d! Not In me the worth or wit. God gave this lowly lot Because I merit it. In humble ways I move Myself to little things; The heated hands I prove, I watch the light that springs Or fades in fever’d eyes; My only solace here, Not to be rich or wise But to have done with fear. God sees the silent space Where footstep never trod; And in the lonely place The listener is God. * * * * * IV * * * * * INDURATION