love poetry

Lord Jesus Christ, our Wisdom and our Rest,
Who wisely dost reveal and wisely hide,
Grant us such grace in wisdom to abide
According to Thy Will whose Will is best.
Contented with Thine uttermost behest,
Too sweet for envy and too high for pride;
All simple-souled, dove-hearted and dove-eyed,
Soft-voiced, and satisfied in humble nest.
Wondering at the bounty of Thy Love
Which gives us wings of silver and of gold;
Wings folded close, yet ready to unfold
When Thou shalt say, " Winter is past and gone: "

Piteous my rhyme is
What while I muse of love and pain,
Of love misspent, of love in vain,
Of love that is not loved again:
And is this all then?
As long as time is,
Love loveth. Time is but a span,
The dalliance space of dying man:
And is this all immortals can?
The gain were small then.

Love loves for ever,
And finds a sort of joy in pain,
And gives with nought to take again,
And loves too well to end in vain:
Is the gain small then?
Love laughs at " never, "

Lord, grant me grace to love Thee in my pain,
Thro' all my disappointment love Thee still,
Thy love my strong foundation and my hill,
Tho' I be such as cometh not again,
A fading leaf, a spark upon the wane:
So evermore do Thou Thy perfect Will
Beloved thro' all my good, thro' all mine ill,
Beloved tho' all my love beside be vain.
If thus I love Thee, how wilt Thou love me,
Thou Who art greater than my heart? (Amen!)
Wilt Thou bestow a part, withhold a part?
The longing of my heart cries out to Thee,

Lord, make us all love all: that when we meet
Even myriads of earth's myriads at Thy Bar,
We may be glad as all true lovers are
Who having parted count reunion sweet.
Safe gathered home around Thy blessed Feet,
Come home by different roads from near or far,
Whether by whirlwind or by flaming car,
From pangs or sleep, safe folded round Thy seat.
Oh, if our brother's blood cry out at us,
How shall we meet Thee Who hast loved us all,
Thee Whom we never loved, not loving him?
The unloving cannot chant with Seraphim,

" Thou whom I love, for whom I died,
Lovest thou Me, My bride? " —
Low on my knees I love Thee, Lord,
Believed in and adored.

" That I love thee the proof is plain:
How dost thou love again? " —
In prayer, in toil, in earthly loss,
In a long-carried cross.

" Yea, thou dost love: yet one adept
Brings more for Me to accept. " —
I mould my will to match with Thine,
My wishes I resign.

" Thou givest much: then give the whole
For solace of My soul. " —

Dear Lord, let me recount to Thee
Some of the great things Thou hast done
For me, even me
Thy little one.

It was not I that cared for Thee, —
But Thou didst set Thy heart upon
Me, even me
Thy little one.

And therefore was it sweet to Thee
To leave Thy Majesty and Throne,
And grow like me
A Little One,

A swaddled Baby on the knee
Of a dear Mother of Thine own,
Quite weak like me
Thy little one.

Thou didst assume my misery,

And the best gift of God
Is the love of superior souls

— — Love
Asks nought his brother cannot give
Asks nothing but does all receive
Love calls not to his aid events
He to his wants can well suffice
Asks not of others soft consents
Nor kind Occasion without eyes
Nor plots to ope or bolt a gate
Nor heeds Condition's iron walls
Where he goes, goes before him Fate;
Whom he uniteth God instals;
Instant & perfect his access
To the dear object of his thought,
Though foes & lands & seas between
Himself & his love intervene.

I
Winters know
Easily to shed the snow,
And the untaught Spring is wise
In cowslips and anemonies.
Nature, hating art and pains,
Baulks and baffles plotting brains;
Casualty and Surprise
Are the apples of her eyes;
But she dearly loves the poor,
And, by marvel of her own,
Strikes the loud pretender down.
For Nature listens in the rose,
And hearkens in the berry's bell,
To help her friends, to plague her foes,
And like wise God she judges well.

I love to see the summer beaming forth
And white wool rock clouds sailing to the north
I love to see the wild flowers come again
And Mare blobs stain with gold the meadow drain
And water lilies whiten on the flood
Where reed clumps rustle like a wind shook wood
Where from her hiding place the Moor Hen pushes
And seeks her flag nest floating in bull rushes
I like the willow leaning half way o'er
The clear deep lake to stand upon its shore
I love the hay grass when the flower head swings
To summer winds and insects happy wings