Patience must dwell with Love, for Love and Sorrow
Have pitched their tent together here:
Love all alone will build a house tomorrow,
And sorrow not be near.

Today for Love's sake hope, still hope, in sorrow,
Rest in her shade and hold her dear:
Today she nurses thee; and lo! tomorrow
Love only will be near.

Lord, give me love that I may love Thee much,
Yea, give me love that I may love Thee more,
And all for love may worship and adore
And touch Thee with love's consecrated touch.
I halt today; be love my cheerful crutch,
My feet to plod, some day my wings to soar:
Some day; but, Lord, not any day before
Thou call me perfect, having made me such.
This is a day of love, a day of sorrow,
Love tempering sorrow to a sort of bliss;
A day that shortens while we call it long:
A longer day of love will dawn tomorrow,

Once slain for Him Who first was slain for them,
Now made alive in Him for evermore,
All luminous and lovely in their gore
With no more buffeting winds or tides to stem
The Martyrs look for New Jerusalem;
And cry " How long? " remembering all they bore,
" How long? " with heart and eyes sent on before
Toward consummated throne and diadem.
" How long? " White robes are given to their desire;
" How long? " deep rest that is and is to be;
With a great promise of the oncoming host,
Loves to their love and fires to flank their fire:

Unspotted lambs to follow the one Lamb,
Unspotted doves to wait on the one Dove;
To whom Love saith, “Be with Me where I am,”
And lo! their answer unto Love is love.

For tho' I know not any note they know,
Nor know one word of all their song above,
I know Love speaks to them, and even so
I know the answer unto Love is love.

Tumult and turmoil, trouble and toil,
Yet peace withal in a painful heart;
Never a grudge and never a broil,
And ever the better part.

O my King and my heart's own choice,
Stretch Thy Hand to Thy fluttering dove;
Teach me, call to me with Thy Voice,
Wrap me up in Thy Love.

Me and my gift: kind Lord, behold,
Be not extreme to test or sift;
Thy Love can turn to fire and gold
Me and my gift.

Myself and mine to Thee I lift:
Gather us to Thee from the cold
Dead outer world where dead things drift.

If much were mine, then manifold
Should be the offering of my thrift:
I am but poor, yet love makes bold
Me and my gift.

Lord God of Hosts, most Holy and most High,
What made Thee tell Thy Name of Love to me?
What made Thee live our life? what made Thee die?
" My love of thee. "

I pitched so low, Thou so exceeding high,
What was it made Thee stoop to look at me
While flawless sons of God stood wondering by?
" My love of thee. "

What is there which can lift me up on high
That we may dwell together, Thou with me,
When sin and death and suffering are gone by?
" My love of thee. "

O Lord, what is that best thing hid on high

Thy lovely saints do bring Thee love,
Incense and joy and gold;
Fair star with star, fair dove with dove,
Beloved by Thee of old.
I, Master, neither star nor dove,
Have brought Thee sins and tears;
Yet I too bring a little love
Amid my flaws and fears.
A trembling love that faints and fails
Yet still is love of Thee,
A wondering love that hopes and hails
Thy boundless Love of me;
Love kindling faith and pure desire,
Love following on to bliss,
A spark, O Jesu, from Thy fire,
A drop from Thine abyss.

O Lord God, hear the silence of each soul,
Its cry unutterable of ruth and shame,
Its voicelessness of self-contempt and blame:
Nor suffer harp and palm and aureole
Of multitudes who praise Thee at the goal,
To set aside Thy poor and blind and lame;
Nor blazing Seraphs utterly to outflame
The spark that flies up from each earthly coal.
My price Thy priceless Blood; and therefore I
Price of Thy priceless Blood am precious so
That good things love me in their love of Thee:
I comprehend not why Thou lovedst me

Lord, if I love Thee and Thou lovest me,
Why need I any more these toilsome days;
Why should I not run singing up Thy ways
Straight into heaven, to rest myself with Thee?
What need remains of death-pang yet to be,
If all my soul is quickened in Thy praise;
If all my heart loves Thee, what need the amaze,
Struggle and dimness of an agony? —
Bride whom I love, if thou too lovest Me,
Thou needs must choose My Likeness for thy dower:
So wilt thou toil in patience, and abide
Hungering and thirsting for that blessed hour