Confessions

FACE to face in my chamber, my silent chamber,

      I saw her!

God and she and I only,.. there, I sate down to

                  draw her

Soul, through the clefts of confession... Speak, I

                  am holding thee fast,

As the angels of resurrection shall do it at the last.

                              "My cup is blood-red

                              With my sin," she said,

            "And I pour it out to the bitter lees,

As if the angels of judgment stood over me strong

                  at the last,

                        Or as thou wert as these!"

When God smote His hands together, and struck

                  out thy soul as a spark,

Into the organised glory of things, from deeps of

                  the dark,—

Say, didst thou shine, didst thou burn, didst thou

                  honour the power in the form,

As the star does at night, or the fire-fly, or even the

                  little ground-worm?

                              "I have sinned," she said,

                              "For my seed-light shed

                  Has smouldered away from His first decrees!

The cypress praiseth the fire-fly, the ground-leaf

                  praiseth the worm:

                        I am viler than these!"

When God on that sin had pity, and did not

                  trample thee straight,

With His wild rains beating and drenching thy

                  light found inadequate;

When He only sent thee the north-winds, a little

                  searching and chill,

To quicken thy flame.. didst thou kindle and flash

                  to the heights of His will?

                              "I have sinned," she said,

                              "Unquickened, unspread,

            My fire dropt down; and I wept on my knees!

I only said of His winds of the north, as I shrank

                  from their chill,..

                        What delight is in these?"

When God on that sin had pity, and did not meet

                  it as such,

But tempered the wind to thy uses, and softened

                  the world to thy touch;

At least thou wast moved in thy soul, though un-

                  able to prove it afar,

Thou couldst carry thy light like a jewel, not giving

                  it like a star?

                              "I have sinned," she said,

                              "And not merited

            The gift He gives, by the grace He sees!

The mine-cave praiseth the jewel, the hill-side

                  praiseth the star:—

                        I am viler than these."

Then I cried aloud in my passion,.. unthankful and

                  impotent creature,

To throw up thy scorn unto God, through the rents

                  in thy nature!

If He, the all-giving and loving, is served so, what

                  then

Hast thou done to the weak and the changing,..

                  thy fellows of men?

                              "I have loved," she said,

                              (Words bowing her head

            As the wind bows the wet acacia-trees!)

"I saw God sitting above me,—but I.. I sate

                  among men,

                        And I have loved these."

Again with a lifted voice,.. like a trumpet that

                  takes

The low note of a viol that trembles, and triumph-

                  ing breaks

On the air with it, solemn and clear.. "I have

                  sinned not in this!

Where I loved, I have loved much and well,—I

                  have loved not amiss.

                              Let the living," she said,

                              "Inquire of the Dead,

            In the house of the pale-faced Images,—

And my own true Dead will answer for me, that I

                  have not loved amiss,

                        In my love for all these.

"The least touch of their hands in the morning, I

                  keep day and night:

Their least step on the stair, still throbs through

                  me, if ever so light:

Their least gift, which they left to my childhood, in

                  long ago years,

Is now turned from a toy to a relic, and gazed at

                  through tears.

                              Dig the snow," she said,

                              "For my churchyard bed;

            Yet I, as I sleep, shall not fear to freeze,

If but one of these love me with heart-warm tears,

                        As I have loved these!

"If I have angered any among them, my own life

                  was sore;

If I fell from their presence, I clung to their memory

                  more:

Their tender I often felt holy, their bitter I some-

                  times called sweet;

And whenever their heart has refused me, I fell

                  down straight at their feet.

                              I have loved," she said,—

                              "Man is weak, God is dread;

            Yet the weakest man dies with his spirit at

                  ease,

Having poured such love-oil on the Saviour's feet,

                        As I lavished for these."

Go, I cried, thou hast chosen the Human, and left

                  the Divine!

Then, at least, have the Human shared with thee,

                  their wild berry-wine?

Have they loved back thy love, and when strangers

                  approached thee with blame,

Have they covered thy fault with their kisses, and

                  loved thee the same?

                              But she wept and said,

                              "God, over my head,

            Will sweep in the wrath of His judgment seas,

If He deal with me sinning, but only the same

                        And not gentler than these!"