An Apprehension

If all the gentlest-hearted friends I know

Concentred in one heart their gentleness,

That still grew gentler, till its pulse was less

For life than pity,—I should yet be slow

To bring my own heart nakedly below

The palm of such a friend, that he should press

Motive, condition, means, appliances,

My false ideal joy and fickle woe,

Out full to light and knowledge. I should fear

Some plait between the brows—some rougher chime

In the free voice.... O angels, let your flood

Of bitter scorn dash on me! Do ye hear

What I say, who bear calmly all the time

This everlasting face-to-face with GOD?