Image and glory of the man, As he of God, is woman. Can This holy, sweet proportion die Into a dull equality? Are we not one flesh, yea, so far More than the babe and mother are, That sons are bid mothers to leave And to their wives alone to cleave, 'For _they_ two are one flesh!' But 'tis In the flesh we rise. Our union is, You know 'tis said, 'great mystery.' Great mockery, it appears to me; Poor image of the spousal bond Of Christ and Church, if loosed beyond This life!--'Gainst which, and much more yet, There's not a single word to set. The speech to the scoffing Sadducee Is not in point to you and me; For how could Christ have taught such clods That Caesar's things are also God's? The sort of Wife the Law could make Might well be 'hated' for Love's sake, And left, like money, land, or house; For out of Christ is no true spouse. I used to think it strange of Him To make love's after-life so dim, Or only clear by inference: But God trusts much to common sense, And only tells us what, without His Word, we could not have found out On fleshly tables of the heart He penn'd truth's feeling counterpart In hopes that come to all: so, Dear, Trust these, and be of happy cheer, Nor think that he who has loved well Is of all men most miserable. There's much more yet I want to say, But cannot now. You know my way Of feeling strong from Twelve till Two After my wine. I'll write to you Daily some words, which you shall have To break the silence of the grave. VIII. FROM JANE TO FREDERICK.