VII. FROM JANE TO FREDERICK.

I leave this, Dear, for you to read,

For strength and hope, when I am dead.

When Grace died, I was so perplex'd,

I could not find one helpful text;

And when, a little while before,

I saw her sobbing on the floor,

Because I told her that in heaven

She would be as the angels even,

And would not want her doll,‘ tis true

A horrible fear within me grew,

That, since the preciousness of love

Went thus for nothing, mine might prove

To be no more, and heaven's bliss

Some dreadful good which is not this.

But being about to die makes clear

Many dark things. I have no fear,

Now that my love, my grief, my joy

Is but a passion for a toy.

I cannot speak at all, I find,

The shining something in my mind

That shows so much that, if I took

My thoughts all down,‘ twould make a book.

God's Word, which lately seem'd above

The simpleness of human love,

To my death-sharpen'd hearing tells

Of little or of nothing else;

And many things I hoped were true,

When first they came, like songs, from you,

Now rise with witness past the reach

Of doubt, and I to you can teach,

As if with felt authority

And as things seen, what you taught me.

Yet how? I have no words but those

Which every one already knows:

As,‘ No man hath at any time

Seen God, but‘ tis the love of Him

Made perfect, and He dwells in us,

If we each other love.’ Or thus,

‘ My goodness misseth in extent

Of Thee, Lord! In the excellent

I know Thee; and the Saints on Earth

Make all my love and holy mirth.’

And further,‘ Inasmuch as ye

Did it to one of these, to Me

Ye did it, though ye nothing thought

Nor knew of Me, in that ye wrought.’

What shall I dread? Will God undo

Our bond, which is all others too?

And when I meet you will you say

To my reclaiming looks,‘ Away!

A dearer love my bosom warms

With higher rights and holier charms.

The children, whom thou here may'st see,

Neighbours that mingle thee and me,

And gaily on impartial lyres

Renounce the foolish filial fires

They felt, with “Praise to God on high,

Goodwill to all else equally;”

The trials, duties, service, tears;

The many fond, confiding years

Of nearness sweet with thee apart;

The joy of body, mind, and heart;

The love that grew a reckless growth,

Unmindful that the marriage-oath

To love in an eternal style

Meant — only for a little while:

Sever'd are now those bonds earth-wrought;

All love, not new, stands here for nought!’

Why, it seems almost wicked, Dear,

Even to utter such a fear!

Are we not‘ heirs,’ as man and wife,

‘ Together of eternal life?’

Was Paradise e'er meant to fade,

To make which marriage first was made?

Neither beneath him nor above

Could man in Eden find his Love;

Yet with him in the garden walk'd

His God, and with Him mildly talk'd!

Shall the humble preference offend

In Heaven, which God did there commend?

Are‘ Honourable and undefiled’

The names of aught from heaven exiled?

And are we not forbid to grieve

As without hope? Does God deceive,

And call that hope which is despair,

Namely, the heaven we should not share!

Image and glory of the man,

As he of God, is woman. Can

This holy, sweet proportion die

Into a dull equality?

Are we not one flesh, yea, so far

More than the babe and mother are,

That sons are bid mothers to leave

And to their wives alone to cleave,

‘ For they two are one flesh!’ But‘ tis

In the flesh we rise. Our union is,

You know‘ tis said,‘ great mystery.’

Great mockery, it appears to me;

Poor image of the spousal bond

Of Christ and Church, if loosed beyond

This life!—‘ Gainst which, and much more yet,

There's not a single word to set.

The speech to the scoffing Sadducee

Is not in point to you and me;

For how could Christ have taught such clods

That Caesar's things are also God's?

The sort of Wife the Law could make

Might well be‘ hated’ for Love's sake,

And left, like money, land, or house;

For out of Christ is no true spouse.

I used to think it strange of Him

To make love's after-life so dim,

Or only clear by inference:

But God trusts much to common sense,

And only tells us what, without

His Word, we could not have found out

On fleshly tables of the heart

He penn'd truth's feeling counterpart

In hopes that come to all: so, Dear,

Trust these, and be of happy cheer,

Nor think that he who has loved well

Is of all men most miserable.

There's much more yet I want to say,

But cannot now. You know my way

Of feeling strong from Twelve till Two

After my wine. I'll write to you

Daily some words, which you shall have

To break the silence of the grave.