BRAND.
What the world calls by that name “Love,”
I know not and I reek not of.
God’s love I recognise alone,
Which melts not at the piteous plaint,
Which is not moved by dying groan,
And its caress i s chastisement.
What answer’d through the olive-trees
God, when the Son in anguish lay,
Praying, “O take this cup away!”
D i d He then take it? Nay, child, nay:
He made him drink it to the lees.