So, in the house of pain imprisoned, we Endure our bondage, and work out our time, Nor seek from out our dungeon walls to climb-- Bondsmen, who would not, if we could, be free. Thank God, our hands still hold Love's cord--and she-- Do not her hands still clasp the cord we hold, Drawing us near, coiling bright fold on fold, Till the far day when it shall draw us near To the sight of her--her living hands, her dear Tired face, grown weary of watching for our face? And we shall hold her, in the happy place, And hear her voice, the old same voice we knew-- "Ah! children, I am tired of wanting you!" Or, in some world more beautiful and dear Than any she ever even dreamed of here, Where time is changed, does she await the day She longed for, and so little a while away, When all the love we watered with our tears Shall bloom, transplanted by the kindly years? Dreaming through her new garden does she go, Remembering the old garden, long ago, Tending new flowers more fair than those that grow In this sad garden where such sad flowers blow; And, fondly touching bud and leaf and shoot, Training her flowers to perfect branch and root, Does she sometimes entreat some darling flower To wait a little for its opening hour? Can you not hear her voice: "Ah, not to-day, While my dear flowers, my own, are far away. Be patient, bud! to-morrow soon will come: Ah! blossom when my little girl comes home!" But now. But here. The empty house, the always empty place-- The black remembrance that no night blots out, The memories, white, unbearable, and dear That no white sunlight makes less cruel and clear? The resistless riotous rout Of cruel conquering thoughts, the night, the day? Love is immortal: this the price to pay. Worse than all pain it would be to forget-- On Love's brave brow the crown of thorns is set. Love is no niggard: though the price be high Into God's market Love goes forth to buy With royal meed God's greatest gifts and gain, Love offers up his whole rich store of pain, And buys of God Love's immortality. FOR DOROTHY, 18th August, 1900. A PARTING.