Dear is the lost wife to a lone man's heart, When in a dream he meets her at his door, And, waked for joy, doth know she dwells apart, All unresponsive on a silent shore; Dearer, yea, more desired art thou--for thee My divine heart yearns by the jasper sea. More than the mother's for her sucking child; She wants, with emptied arms and love untold, Her most dear little one that on her smiled And went; but more, I want Mine own. Behold, I long for My redeem'd, where safe with Me Twelve manner of fruits grow on th' immortal tree; The tree of life that I won back for men, And planted in the city of My God. Lift up thy head, I love thee; wherefore, then, Liest thou so long on thy memorial sod Sleeping for sorrow? Rise, for dawn doth break-- I love thee, and I cry to thee "Awake." Serve,--woman whom I love, ere noon be high, Ere the long shadow lengthen at thy feet. Work,--I have many poor, O man, that cry, My little ones do languish in the street. Love,--'tis a time for love, since I love thee. Live,--'tis a time to live. Man, live in Me. WEEPING AND WAILING NEEDS MUST BE. "_Blessed are ye that weep now_." Weeping and wailing needs must be When Love His name shall disavow, When christen'd men His wrath shall dree, Who mercy scorn'd in this their day; But what? He turns not yet away, Not yet--not now. Let me not, waken'd after sleep, Behold a Judge with lowering brow, The world must weep, and I must weep Those sins that nail'd Thee on the tree, Lord Jesu, of Thy clemency. Let it be NOW. Let us have weeping NOW for sin, And not us only; let Thy tears Avail the tears of many to win; Weep with us, Jesu, kind art Thou; We that have sinn'd many long years, Let us weep NOW; And then, waked up, behold Thy face, Who did forgive us. See Thy brow-- Beautiful--learn Thy love and grace. Then wilt Thou wipe away our tears, And comfort in th' all-hallow'd spheres, Them that weep now. JESUS, THE LAMB OF GOD. "_Art Thou He that should come?_" Jesus, the Lamb of God, gone forth to heal and bless. Calm lie the desert pools in a fair wilderness; Wind-shaken moves the reed, so moves His voice the soul, Sick folk surprised of joy, wax when they hear it, whole. Calm all His mastering might, calm smiles the desert waste; Peace, peace, He shall not cry, nay, He shall not make haste; Heaven gazes, hell beneath moved for Him, moans and stirs-- Lo, John lies fast in prison, sick for his messengers. John, the forerunner, John, the desert's tameless son, Cast into loathèd thrall, his use and mission done; John from his darkness sends a cry, but not a plea; Not, "Hast Thou felt my need?" but only, "Art Thou He?" Unspoken pines his hope, grown weak in lingering dole; None know what pang that hour might pierce the Healer's soul; Silence that faints to Him--but must e'en so be vain; A word--the fetters fall--He will that word restrain.