Page:Poems Bushnell.djvu/29

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Outside

Ah! these souls in harbor lying,
Anchored on a sheltered tide,
   Only know
   Life's even flow;
Little reck of storms wild flying,
Or of waves that beat outside.
Stainless hand but nerveless arm
Cannot snatch a soul from harm,
Or make hearts benumbed grow warm.
Lord, thy purity is strong,
Reaching to the cure of wrong:
Search, yea, rend my heart and soul,
If such sharpness can make whole;
Or, if far too low I stand
For the dealing of thy hand,
Must I then be left outside?
O, my God! Thy heavens are wide!
Send some angel, pure and fleet,
Let him lift me to thy feet,
There abased and dumb to kneel,
Still contented, might I feel
That, in some poor place apart,
I was not outside thy heart.
Something whispers to my fear,
Can it be that thou art near?
Are thy feet here in the snow,
Wounded for me long ago?
Let me clasp them, lying low.
I have found the open door,
And am left outside no more.

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