Page:Poems Shipton.djvu/182

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Then in the arid waste, all parched and dreary,
 Thou bad'st for me a bubbling streamlet rise.

"Drink," Lord, Thou saidst: and I in mute thanksgiving
 Drank of the stream that by the wayside burst,
Sweet drops of love from Thy deep fount upspringing,
 That soothed my weariness and quenched my thirst.

Now at thy word dries up my pleasant Cherith,
 Oh let me not in selfish grief repine;
Only Thy voice my mourning spirit heareth,
 Thou hast not taken mine, Lord, but Thine.

"Nay, thine and Mine!"(thus came a whisper stealing
 On my sad heart, and tenderly it fell;)"
That spring of joy I sent, my love revealing,
 And its deep secret thou must ponder well.

"'Tis Mine and thine: it was my love that lent it,
 Thy lonely pilgrim path to wander by;
Fear not, my child, it was thy Father sent it,
 And the same love now bids the brook run dry.

"Thy song of praise that with its murmurs blended,
 Rejoiced His heart who trod the earth alone,
Thy stifled wail 'mid angel hosts ascended,
 And reached thy Brother on thy Father's throne.