Ah poor the music of the choir
  That voiced the Psalter after him! 
  And strong the prayer that, touched with fire,
  Flamed upward, past the seraphim,
  And wrapped the throne of his desire!

  She watched and heard as in a dream,
  When, in the old, familiar ground
  Of sacred truth, he found his theme,
  And led it forth, until it wound
  Through meadows broad—­a swollen stream

  That flashed and eddied in the light,
  And fed the grasses at its edge,
  Or thundered in its onward might
  O’er interposing weir and ledge,
  And left them hidden in the white;

  While on it pressed, and, to the eye,
  Grew broader, till its breadth became
  A solemn river, sweeping by,
  That, quick with ships and red with flame,
  Reached far away and kissed the sky!

  Strong men were moved as trees are bowed
  Before a swift and sounding wind;
  And sighs were long and sobs were loud,
  Of those who loved and those who sinned,
  Among the deeply listening crowd.

  XII.

  And Mildred, in the whelming tide
  Of thought and feeling, quite forgot
  That he who thus had magnified
  His office, held a common lot
  With her, and owned her as his bride.

  But when, at length, the thought returned
  That she was his in plighted truth,
  And she with humbled soul discerned
  That, though her youth was given to youth,
  And love by love was fairly earned,

  She could not match him wing-and-wing
  Through all his broad and lofty range,
  And feared what passing years might bring
  No change for good, but only change
  That would degrade her to a thing

  Of homely use and household care,
  And love by duty basely kept—­
  She bowed her head upon the bare
  Cold rail that hid her face, and wept,
  And poured her passion in a prayer.

  XIII.

  “Oh Father, Father!” thus she prayed: 
  “Thou know’st the priceless boon I seek! 
  Before my life, abashed, dismayed,
  I stand, with hopeless hands and weak,
  Of him and of myself afraid!

  “Teach me and lead me where to find,
  Beyond the touch of hand and lip,
  That vital charm of heart, and mind
  Which, in a true companionship,
  My feebler life to his shall bind!

  “His ladder leans upon the sun: 
  I cannot climb it:  give me wings! 
  Grant that my deeds, divinely done,
  May be appraised divinest things,
  Though they be little every one.

  “His stride is strong; his steps are high
  May not my deeds be little stairs
  That, counted swift, shall keep me nigh,
  Till at the summit, unawares,
  We stand with equal foot and eye?

  “If further down toward Nature’s heart
  His root is struck, commanding springs
  In whose deep life I have no part,
  Send me, on recompensing wings,
  The rain that gathers where thou art!