Comfort

Speak low to me, my Saviour, low and sweet

From out the hallelujahs, sweet and low,

Lest I should fear and fall, and miss Thee so

Who art not missed by any that entreat.

Speak to me as to Mary at Thy feet—

And if no precious gums my hands bestow,

Let my tears drop like amber, while I go

In reach of Thy divinest voice complete

In humanest affection—thus, in sooth

To lose the sense of losing! As a child,

Whose song-bird seeks the wood for evermore,

Is sung to in its stead by mother's mouth;

Till, sinking on her breast, love-reconciled,

He sleeps the faster that he wept before.