Faith Trembling

Were i a happy bird,     Building my little nest each early spring, It might be easy then to keep God’s word,     His praise to sing; Easy to live content,     Tending my little ones,—of love secure, Knowing no agony for time misspent,     Or thought impure! Were I a butterfly,     A bright-winged creature of the sunshine born, Idle and lovely I could live and die     Without self-scorn; I need not fear     To take my utmost will of summer sweet; Nor dread, when the swift end came near,     My Judge to meet! If I were only made     Patient, and calm, and pure, as angels are, I had not been so doubtful,—sore afraid     Of sin and care; It would seem sweet and good     To bear the heavy cross that martyrs take, The passion and the pain of womanhood     For my Lord’s sake. But strong, and fair, and young,     I dread my glowing limbs,—my heart of fire, My soul that trembles like a harp full strung     To keen desire! O, wild and idle words!     Will God’s large charity and patience be Given unto butterflies and singing birds,     And not to me?