DEAR IS THE LOST WIFE TO A LONE MAN'S HEART.

Dear is the lost wife to a lone man's heart,

When in a dream he meets her at his door,

And, waked for joy, doth know she dwells apart,

All unresponsive on a silent shore;

Dearer, yea, more desired art thou — for thee

My divine heart yearns by the jasper sea.

More than the mother's for her sucking child;

She wants, with emptied arms and love untold,

Her most dear little one that on her smiled

And went; but more, I want Mine own. Behold,

I long for My redeem'd, where safe with Me

Twelve manner of fruits grow on th’ immortal tree;

The tree of life that I won back for men,

And planted in the city of My God.

Lift up thy head, I love thee; wherefore, then,

Liest thou so long on thy memorial sod

Sleeping for sorrow? Rise, for dawn doth break —

I love thee, and I cry to thee “Awake.”

Serve,— woman whom I love, ere noon be high,

Ere the long shadow lengthen at thy feet.

Work,— I have many poor, O man, that cry,

My little ones do languish in the street.

Love,—‘ tis a time for love, since I love thee.

Live,—‘ tis a time to live. Man, live in Me.