December 27

WHEN on my soul in nakedness His swift, avertless hand did press,

Then I stood still, nor cried aloud,

Nor murmured low in ashes bowed;

And since my woe is utterless,

To supreme quiet I am vowed;

Afar from me be moans and tears,—

I shall go softly all my years.

Whenso my quick light-sandalled feet

Bring me where joys and pleasures meet,

I mingle with their throng at will;

They know me not an alien still,

Since neither words nor ways unsweet

Of stored bitterness I spill;

Youth shuns me not, nor gladness fears,—

I shall go softly all my years.

Whenso I come where griefs convene,

And in my ear their cry is keen;

They know me not, as on I glide,

That with Arch Sorrow I abide.

They haggard are, and dropped of mien,

And round their brows have cypress tied;

Such shows I leave to light Grief's peers,—

I shall go softly all my years.

Yea, softly! heart of hearts unknown,

Silence hath speech that passeth moan,

More piercing-keen than breathed cries

To such as heed, made sorrow-wise.

But save this voice without a tone,

That runs before me to the skies,

And rings above Thy ringing spheres,

Lord, I go softly all my years.

EDITH

MATILDA

THOMAS

THE HEART'S CRY