POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL
You came to me like manna dews—like an embodied prayer;
Till your imploring accents turned the torrent of despair.
You made me feel the blight of Sin, the majesty of Love,
And when I clutched an earthly crown, you merely glanced above.
Oh, gladly for you would these hands demand the beggar’s dole—
I did not love you for your face—I loved you for your soul!
You left me, darling child, before the Promised Land was won,
And it was hard for me to look upon the living sun.
’Twas no ignoble whim that hoped to make you mine alway;
My idol was no frenzy of the perishable clay.
And if I kneel to you no more, save by the churchyard knoll,
I have not loved you for your face—I’ve loved you for your soul!
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