Page:Poems Shipton.djvu/58

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How can I tend your vineyards?—how
 Scatter the seed around,
Until the Master of the field,
 The living Lord, be found?

"My vine would bear no fruit for Him,
 Though rich might be the leaves;
And though in weeping I might sow,
 I still should find no sheaves.
I sigh for God, the living God:
 For Him my soul doth wait;
None tell me where He dwells, and I
 Am sad and desolate."

Lo here, lo there, I sought Him far,
 The Bearer of my sin;
I missed the kingdom of His grace,
 And sought it not within.
Shrouded in daily circumstance,
 I little knew Him then,
Or that my Lord's delights were still
 Among the sons of men.

Sickness and sorrow came at length,
 And closed my chamber door;
My Lord! then wast Thou found of me,
 And my long search was o'er.