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?