As the full moon shining there
To the sun that lighteth her
Am I unto thee for ever,
O my secret glory-giver!
O my light, I am dark but fair,
Black but fair.

Shine, Earth loves thee! And then shine
And be loved through thoughts of mine.
All thy secrets that I treasure
I translate them at my pleasure.
I am crowned with glory of thine,
Thine, not thine.

I make pensive thy delight,
And thy strong gold silver-white.
Though all beauty of mine thou makest,
Yet to earth which thou forsakest
I have made thee fair all night,

Ah , God! here, here, Love bade me ope my still
Shut heart-lips at his nod;
And here, in vain resistance to his will,
I wrestled with the god.
What man can strive with Love? Is he not lord?
Best conquest is to yield.
It was a victory to feel his sword
Pierce through my idle shield.

I lay here at my queen's feet in the ashen,
Wan June-light of the moon,
And sang to her the legend of my passion,
A strange, forbidden tune.
The high gods cannot take away the glory
Love gave me as I fell,
Nor dim the recollection of the story

1. Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine! O what a
2. Perfect submission, perfect delight, Visions of
foretaste of glory divine! Heir of salvation, purchase of
rapture burst on my sight; Angels descending, bring from a-
God, Born of his Spirit, washed in his blood.
bove, Echoes of mercy, whispers of love.
This is my story, this is my song, Praising my
Saviour all the day long; This is my story this is my
song, Praising my Saviour all the day long.

3. Perfect submission, all is at rest,
I in my Saviour am happy and blest,
Watching and waiting, looking above,

All women born are so perverse
No man need boast their love possessing.
If naught seem better, nothing's worse:
All women born are so perverse.
From Adam's wife, that proved a curse,
Though God had made her for a blessing,
All women born are so perverse
No man need boast their love possessing.

“Love has no shame.”—
'Twas this you said to me.
Shall Love reveal
Hid beauties that are real
And still disguise the soul's infirmity
In fear of blame?
“Love has no cruelty.”—
See first the wounds that are within
Hid by this quite sufficient skin.
Loving your spirit, I may not deceive it.
Then of my body, Lover—take or leave it.

Before the mountains were created,
And before the world was made,
God loved the Gates of Zion
Just as now and evermore;
And to love us purely
He's inscribed us in the Book of Life
Who signs this in a godly way
Remains forever blessed.
The poor pilgrim whom the mercy of God has sustained until he is ninety years old has still written this with his own hand.

Not that the gift, great Lord, deserves your hand,
Held ever worth the rarest works of men,
Offer I this; but since in all our land
None can more rightly claim a poet's pen:
That noble blood and virtue truly known,
Which circular in you united run,
Makes you each good, and every good your own,
If it can hold in what my Muse hath done.
But weak and lowly are these tuned lays,
Yet though but weak to win fair Memory,
You may improve them, and your gracing raise;
For things are priz'd as their possessors be.
If for such favour they have worthless striven,

If my dark grandam had but known,
Or yet my wild grandsir,
Or the lord that lured the maid away
That was my sad mother,

O had they known, O had they dreamed
What gift it was they gave,
Would they have stayed their wild, wild love,
Nor made my years their slave?

Must they have stopped their hungry lips
From love at thought of me?
O life, O life, how may we learn
Thy strangest mystery?

Nay, they knew not, as we scarce know;
Their souls, O let them rest;
My life is pupil unto pain—
With him I make my quest.

O the burden, the burden of love ungiven,
The weight of laughter unshed,
O heavy caresses, unblown tendernesses,
O love-words unsung and unsaid.

O the burden, the burden of love unspoken,
The cramp of silence close-furled,
To lips that would utter, to hands that would scatter
Love's seed on the paths of the world.

O the heavy burden of love ungiven:
My breast doth this burden bear;
Deep in my bosom the unblown blossom—
My world-love that withers there.

Teach it me, if you can,—forgetfulness!
I surely shall forget, if you can bid me;
I who have worshipp'd thee, my god on earth,
I who have bow'd me at thy lightest word.
Your last command, “Forget me,” will it not
Sink deeply down within my inmost soul?
Forget thee!—ay, forgetfulness will be
A mercy to me. By the many nights,
When I have wept for that I dared not sleep,—
A dream had made me live my woes again,
Acting my wretchedness, without the hope
My foolish heart still clings to, though that hope
Is like the opiate which may lull a while,