Comfort

Speak low to me, my Saviour, low and sweet

From out the hallelujahs, sweet and low

Lest I should fear and fall, and miss Thee so

Who art not missed by any that entreat.

Speak to mo as to Mary at thy feet!

And if no precious gums my hands bestow,

Let my tears drop like amber while I go

In reach of thy divinest voice complete

In humanest affection -- thus, in sooth,

To lose the sense of losing. As a child,

Whose song-bird seeks the wood for evermore

Is sung to in its stead by mother's mouth

Till, sinking on her breast, love-reconciled,

He sleeps the faster that he wept before.