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| Twice I took my heart in my
hand
(O my love, O my love), I said: Let me fall or stand, Let me live or die, But this once hear me speak – (O my love, O my love)— Yet a woman's words are weak; You should speak, not I. With a friendly smile, With a critical eye you scanned, Then set it down, And said: It is still unripe, Better wait awhile; Wait while the skylarks pipe, Till the corn grows brown. Broke, but I did not wince; I smiled at the speech you spoke At your judgment that I heard: But I have not often smiled Since then, nor questioed since, Nor cared for corn-flowers wild, Nor sung with the singing bird. O my God, O my God, My broken heart in my hand: Thou hast seen, judge Thou. My hope was written on sand, O my God, O my God; Now let Thy judgment stand— Yea, judge me now. This marred one heedless day, This heart take Thou to scan Both within and without: Refine with fire its gold, Purge Thou its dross away— Yea hold it in Thy hold, Whence none can pluck it out. I shall not die, but live— Before Thy face I stand; I, for Thou callest such: All that I have I bring, All that I am I give, Smile Thou and I shall sing, But shall not question much. |