CONVERSION.

I have lived this life as the skeptic lives it;

I have said the sweetness was less than the gall;

Praising, nor cursing, the Hand that gives it,

I have drifted aimlessly through it all.

I have scoffed at the tale of a so-called heaven;

I have laughed at the thought of a Supreme Friend;

I have said that it only to man was given

To live, to endure; and to die was the end.

But I know that a good God reigneth,

Generous-hearted and kind and true;

Since unto a worm like me he deigneth

To send so royal a gift as you.

Bright as a star you gleam on my bosom,

Sweet as a rose that the wild bee sips;

And I know, my own, my beautiful blossom,

That none but a God could mould such lips.

And I believe, in the fullest measure

That ever a strong man's heart could hold,

In all the tales of heavenly pleasure

By poets sung or by prophets told;

For in the joy of your shy, sweet kisses,

Your pulsing touch and your languid sigh

I am filled and thrilled with better blisses

Than ever were claimed for souls on high.

And now I have faith in all the stories

Told of the beauties of unseen lands;

Of royal splendors and marvellous glories

Of the golden city not made with hands

For the silken beauty of falling tresses,

Of lips all dewy and cheeks aglow,

With — what the mind in a half trance guesses

Of the twin perfection of drifts of snow;

Of limbs like marble, of thigh and shoulder

Carved like a statue in high relief —

These, as the eyes and the thoughts grow bolder,

Leave no room for an unbelief.

So my lady, my queen most royal,

My skepticism has passed away;

If you are true to me, true and loyal,

I will believe till the Judgment-day.