My ministering life-angel justified

Or temples occupation, beyond call.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

Who paused a little near the prison-wall

Love that endures, from Life that disappears!

I seek no copy now of lifes first half:

To the white throne of God, I turned at last,

To angels in thy soul! Then I, long tried

And write me new my futures epigraph,

Thy fowers, and keep them where they shall not pine.

From my hearts ground. Indeed, th九*九*藏*書ose beds and bowers

I love thee with the passion put to use

To hearken what I said between my tears, . . .

In this close room, nor missed the sun and showers.

Take back these thoughts which here unfolded too,

Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose,

XLI

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My future will not copy fair my past—

Ere they went onward, each one to the marts

When the sob took it, thy divinest Arts

Beloved, thou hast brought me man九-九-藏-書y flowers

Be overgrown with bitter weeds and rue,

XLIII

In my old griefs, and with my childhoods faith.

But thou, who, in my voices sink and fall

And there, instead, saw thee, not unallied

I wrote that once; and thinking at my side

Leave here the pages with long musing curled,

The word by his appealing look upcast

And which on warm and cold days I withdrew

I thank all who have loved me in their hearts,

With thanks and love九九藏書 from mine. Deep thanks to all

Gave out green leaves with morning dews impearled.

I shall but love thee better after death.

Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.

XLII

And wait thy weeding; yet heres eglantine,

Here s ivy!—take them, as I used to do

Instruct thine eyes to keep their colors true,

By natural ills, received the comfort fast,

And tell thy soul their roots are left in mine.

Own instrument didst drop down at thy foot

My soul九-九-藏-書s full meaning into future years,

So, in the like name of that love of ours,

To hear my music in its louder parts

For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

New angel mine, unhoped for in the world!

While budding, at thy sight, my pilgrims staff

Instruct me how to thank thee! Oh, to shoot

Plucked in the garden, all the summer through

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

I love tｒeａｄ•99cｓw.cｏｍhee freely, as men strive for Right;

XLIV

And winter, and it seemed as if they grew

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

That they should lend it utterance, and salute

I love thee to the level of everydays

With my lost saints,—I love thee with the breath,

I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.