SINCE, Lord, to Thee A narrow way and little gate Is all the passage, on my infancy Thou didst lay hold, and antedate My faith in me. O, let me still Write Thee ‘great God,’ and me ‘a child’; Let me be soft and supple to Thy will, Small to myself, to others mild, Behither ill. Although by stealth My flesh get on; yet let her sister, My soul, bid nothing but preserve her wealth: The growth of flesh is but a blister; Childhood is health. VIRTUE SWEET day, so cool, so calm, so bright, The bridal of the earth and sky, The dew shall weep thy fall to-night, For thou must die. Sweet rose, whose hue, angry and brave, Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die. Sweet Spring, full of sweet days and roses, A box where sweets compacted lie, My music shows ye have your closes, And all must die. Only a sweet and virtuous soul, Like seasoned timber, never gives; But though the whole world turn to coal, Then chiefly lives. UNKINDNESS LORD, make me coy and tender to offend: In friendship, first I think if that agree Which I intend Unto my friend’s intent and end; I would not use a friend as I use Thee. If any touch my friend or his good name, It is my honour and my love-to free His blasted fame From the least spot or thought of blame; I could not use a friend as I use Thee. My friend may spit upon my curious floor; Would he have gold? I lend it instantly; But let the poor, And Thee within them, starve at door; I cannot use a friend as I use Thee. When that my friend pretendeth to a place, I quit my interest, and leave it free; But when Thy grace Sues for my heart, I Thee displace; Nor would I use a friend as I use Thee. Yet can a friend what Thou hast done fulfil? O, write in brass, ‘My God upon a tree His blood did spill, Only to purchase my good-will’; Yet use I not my foes as I use Thee. LOVE LOVE bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back, Guilty of dust and sin. But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack From my first entrance in, Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning If I lacked anything. ‘A guest,’ I answered, ‘worthy to be here’: Love said, ‘You shall be he.’ ‘I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear! I cannot look on thee.’ Love took my hand, and smiling did reply, ‘Who made the eyes but I?’