For gain or glory lands and seas Endlessly ranging, Safety and years and health and ease Freely exchanging; Chiselling Humanity to dust Of glittering riches, God's blood-veined marble to a bust For Fame's cold niches: Desire's loose reins, and steed that stains The rider's raiment; Sorrow and sacrifice and pains For worthless payment:-- When, ever as I moved, I saw The world's contagion, Then turned, O Love! to thy sweet law And compensation,-- Well might red shame my cheek consume! O service slighted! O Bride of Paradise, to whom I long was plighted! Do I with burning lips profess To serve thee wholly, Yet labor less for blessedness Than fools for folly? The wary worldling spread his toils Whilst I was sleeping; The wakeful miser locked his spoils, Keen vigils keeping: I loosed the latches of my soul To pleading Pleasure, Who stayed one little hour, and stole My heavenly treasure. A friend for friend's sake will endure Sharp provocations; And knaves are cunning to secure, By cringing patience, And smiles upon a smarting cheek, Some dear advantage,-- Swathing their grievances in meek Submission's bandage. Yet for thy sake I will not take One drop of trial, But raise rebellious hands to break The bitter vial. At hardship's surly-visaged churl My spirit sallies; And melts, O Peace! thy priceless pearl In passion's chalice. Yet never quite, in darkest night, Was I forsaken: Down trickles still some starry rill My heart to waken. O Love Divine! could I resign This changeful spirit To walk thy ways, what wealth of grace Might I inherit! If one poor flower of thanks to thee Be truly given, All night thou snowest down to me Lilies of heaven! One task of human love fulfilled, Thy glimpses tender My days of lonely labor gild With gleams of splendor! One prayer,--"Thy will, not mine!"--and bright, O'er all my being, Breaks blissful light, that gives to sight A subtler seeing; Straightway mine ear is tuned to hear Ethereal numbers, Whose secret symphonies insphere The dull earth's slumbers. "Thy will!"--and I am armed to meet Misfortune's volleys; For every sorrow I have sweet, Oh, sweetest solace! "Thy will!"--no more I hunger sore, For angels feed me; Henceforth for days, by peaceful ways, They gently lead me. For me the diamond dawns are set In rings of beauty, And all my paths are dewy wet With pleasant duty; Beneath the boughs of calm content My hammock swinging, In this green tent my eves are spent, Feasting and singing. * * * * * MADAME RECAMIER.