Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 3).djvu/155

"Yes, it is too small," they cried;
They would have it spread and soar,
Like a palace in its pride.
Agnes—ah! I see it clear;
Thou the woman art whom God
Gave me for His angel-guide.
Safe alike from doubt and fear
Through the darkness thou hast trod,
Keeping still the even way,
Where I blindly went astray.
Thee no glamour captivated—
Once thy finger show'd the fated
Region where my life-work waited,
Check'd me, as I sought sublime,
To the vault of heaven to climb,
Turn'd my soaring glance within,
And that kingdom bade me win.
Now, a second time, thy word
Penetrates my soul like day,
Guides me where I vainly err'd,
Glorifies my weary way.
Small the Church is? Be it so:
Then a greater Church shall grow.
Never, never did I wot
All God gave me, giving thee;
Now that cry of thine's for me:
Leave me not! Oh leave me not!

Agnes.

All my sorrow I will quell,
I will dry the tears that well,
Seal in still sepulchral sleep
Memory's lone castle-keep;
Lay oblivion like a sea
Open between it and me,
I will blot the joyous gleams