SHOWING HOW THE VOW WAS KEPT.

By Elizabeth Barrett Browning

He dwelt alone, and sun and moon

Were witness that he made

Rejection of his humanness

Until they seemed to fade;

His face did so, for he did grow

Of his own soul afraid.

The self-poised God may dwell alone

With inward glorying,

But God's chief angel waiteth for

A brother's voice, to sing;

And a lonely creature of sinful nature

It is an awful thing.

An awful thing that feared itself;

While many years did roll,

A lonely man, a feeble man,

A part beneath the whole,

He bore by day, he bore by night

That pressure of God's infinite

Upon his finite soul.

The poet at his lattice sate,

And downward looked he.

Three Christians wended by to prayers,

With mute ones in their ee;

Each turned above a face of love

And called him to the far chapelle

With voice more tuneful than its bell:

But still they wended three.

There journeyed by a bridal pomp,

A bridegroom and his dame;

He speaketh low for happiness,

She blusheth red for shame:

But never a tone of benison

From out the lattice came.

A little child with inward song,

No louder noise to dare,

Stood near the wall to see at play

The lizards green and rare —

Unblessed the while for his childish smile

Which cometh unaware.