Classic Poem

A face tender and wise,
God, what power to bless in the pure eyes!
All that perfect grace,
With no place for “I” or for “mine;”
But a look straight out
On us weak, strewn all about;
A desire to bear, and to bear, and to bear,
A fire kept steady, and strong, and clear;
A prayer to be let near
Unto distress most dire.
Arm, O so weak, that would wield
A sword for the world, or a shield—
Would embrace the whole world from harm.
Little arm, ah! but one caress,
To bless me, sweet face, but one charm!