HIS Shoulder did I hold

Too high that I, o'erbold

Weak one,

Should lean thereon. .

But He a little hath

Dedined His stately path

And my

Feet set more high;

That the slack arm may rcach.

His Shoulder, and faint speech


His unwithering hair.

And bolder now and bolder

I lean upon that Shoulder,

So dear

He is and near.

And with His aureole

The tresses of my soul

Are blent

In wished content.

Yea, this too gentle Lover

Hath flattering words to move her

To pride

By His sweet side.

Ah, Love ! somewhat let be !

Lest my humility

Grow weak

When Thou dost speak !

Rebate Thy tender suit,

Lest to herself impute

Some worth

Thy bride of earth !

A maid too easily

Conceits herself to be

Those things

Her lover sings ;

And beîng straitly wooed,

Believes herself the Good

And Fair

He seeks in her.

Turn something of Thy look,

And fear me with rebuke,

That I

May timorously

Take tremors in Thy arms,

And with contrivèd charms


A love unsure.

Not to me, not to me,

Builded so fiawfully,


Thy humbling laud !

Not to this man, but Man,—

Universe in a span;


Of the spheres conjoint;

In whom eternally

Thou, Light, dost focus Thee!—

Didst pave

The way o' the wave,

Rivet with stars the Heaven,

For causeways to Thy driven


In its coming far

Unto him, only him;

In Thy deific whim

Didst bound

Thy works' great round

In this small ring of flesh;

The sky's gold-knotted mesh

Thy wrist

Did only twist

To take him in that net.—

Man! swinging-wicket set


The Unseen and Seen,

Lo, God's two worlds immense,

Of spirit and of sense,


In this narrow bed;

Yea, and the midge's hymn

Answers the Seraphim


Thy body's court !

Great arm-fellow of God !

To the ancestral clod


And to cherubin ;

Bread predilectedly

O' the worm and Deity !


O God's clay-sealed Ark,

To praise that fits thee, clear

To the ear within the ear,

But dense

To clay-sealed sense.

Thee God's great utterance bore,

O secret metaphor

Of what

Thou dream'st no jot !

Cosmic metonymy !

Weak world-unshuttering key !


Seal of Solomon !

Trope that itself not scans

Its huge significance,

Which tries

Cherubic eyes.

Primer where the angels all

God's grammar spell in small,

Nor spell

The highest too well.

Point for the great descants

Of starry disputants;


Of creation.

Thou meaning, couldst thou see,

Of all which dafteth thee;

So plain,

It mocks thy pain;

Stone of the Law indeed,

Thine own self couldst thou read;

Thy bliss

Within thee is.

Compost of Heaven and mire,

Slow foot and swift desire!


To have Yes, choose No;

Gird, and thou shalt unbind;

Seek not, and thou shalt find;

To eat,

Deny thy meat;

And thou shalt be fulfilled

With all sweet things unwilled:

So best

God loves to jest

With children small—a freak

Of heavenly hide-and-seek


For thy wayward wit,

Who art thyself a thing

Of whim and wavering;


When His wings pen thee;

Sole fully blest, to feel

God whistle thee at heel;


As a dew-drop,

When He bends down, sun-wise,

Intemperable eyes;

Most proud,

When utterly bowed,

To feel thyself and be

His dear nonentity—


Beyond human thought

In the thunder-spout of Him,

Until thy being dim

And be

Dead deathlessly.

Stoop, stoop; for thou dost fear

The nettle's wrathful spear,

So slight

Art thou of might !

Rise; for Heaven hath no frown

When thou to thee pluck'st down,

Strong clod!

The neck of God.