ENCHANTED.
89
God's will unto me is not music or wine.
With helpless reproaching, with desolate tears,
God's will I resist, for God's will is divine;
And I—shall be dust to the end of my years.
With helpless reproaching, with desolate tears,
God's will I resist, for God's will is divine;
And I—shall be dust to the end of my years.
God's will is—not mine. Yet one night I shall lie
Very still at his feet, where the stars may not shine.
"Lo! I am well pleased," I shall hear from the sky;
Because—it is God's will I do, and not mine.
Very still at his feet, where the stars may not shine.
"Lo! I am well pleased," I shall hear from the sky;
Because—it is God's will I do, and not mine.
ENCHANTED.
She sat in a piteous hut,
In a wood where poisons grew.
Withered was every leaf,
And her face was withered too.
Like a sword the sharp wind cut
Her worn heart through and through.
In a wood where poisons grew.
Withered was every leaf,
And her face was withered too.
Like a sword the sharp wind cut
Her worn heart through and through.
Away, and so far away,
She looked for a light and a sign:
"Oh, he has not forgotten me!
What should I care for to-day,
When all to-morrow is mine?
I am content to stay."
She looked for a light and a sign:
"Oh, he has not forgotten me!
What should I care for to-day,
When all to-morrow is mine?
I am content to stay."
