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 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 woods forevermore, Is sung to instead by mother’s mouth; Till, sinking on her breast, love-reconciled, He sleeps the faster that he wept before.