I walk by day, I wake by night,
Thirsting, panting for your beauty —
And ever, ever at my side
There stalks a spectre men call Duty.

I turn aside, I turn about,
And still love beckons, burning bright —
And ever, ever facing me
There hands a sword that men call Right.

I fight the battle in my heart,
And wavering is the victory;
And then I pray to God for strength,
In this, my own Gethsemane.

Oft in my agony of soul
I wonder if God hears my prayers,
And — may He now forgive the thought —
I sometimes wonder if God cares.