"I have sinned," she said,
"For my seed-light shed
Has smouldered away from His first decrees!
The cypress praiseth the fire-fly, the ground-leaf
praiseth the worm:
I am viler than these!"
III.
When God on that sin had pity, and did not
trample thee straight,
With His wild rains beating and drenching thy
light found inadequate;
When He only sent thee the north-winds, a little
searching and chill,
To quicken thy flame . . didst thou kindle and flash
to the heights of His will?
"I have sinned," she said,
"Unquickened, unspread,
My fire dropt down; and I wept on my knees!
I only said of His winds of the north, as I shrank
from their chill, . .
What delight is in these?"
IV.
When God on that sin had pity, and did not meet
it as such,
But tempered the wind to thy uses, and softened
the world to thy touch;
At least thou wast moved in thy soul, though un-
able to prove it afar,
Thou couldst carry thy light like a jewel, not giving
it like a star?
