BRAND.
No; I may not bar his way,
Nor run counter to my Call;
I must see Him vast, sublime
As the heavens,-a pigmy Time
Needs a giant God withal!
Oh, but t h o u mayst see Him near,
See Him as a Father dear,
Bow Thy head upon His breast,
There, when thou art weary, rest,
Then return, with face aglow
From His presence, fair and free,
Bear His glory down to me
Worn with battle-thrust and throe!
See, my Agnes; so to share
Is the soul of wedded life:
This, the turmoil and the strife,
Hers the healing and the care;
’This and this alone, the true
Wedlock, that makes one of two.
Since thou turnedst from the life
Of the world to be my wife,
Boldly east thy lot with me,
This the work appointed thee:
Mine the stir and stress of fight,
Battle in the burning sun,
Watching in the winter night;
But for thee, when all is done,
To my parching lips to hold
Love’s full wine-cup, and to fold
’Neath the breastplate’s iron stress
The soft robe of tenderness.
Surely that work is not light!