Page:Dreams and Images.djvu/36

 Her faith and awful Face of God Brightens and blinds with utter light; Her footsteps fall where late He trod; She sinks in roaring voids of night; Cries to her Lord in black despair, And knows, yet knows not, He is there.

A willing sacrifice she takes The burden of our fall within; Holy she stands; while on her breaks The lightning of the wrath of sin; She drinks her Saviour's cup of pain, And, one with Jesus, thirsts again.

HOW SHALL I BUILD

How shall I build my temple to the Lord, Unworthy I, who am thus foul of heart? How shall I worship who no traitor word Know but of love to play a suppliant's part? How shall I pray, whose soul is as a mart, For thoughts unclean, whose tongue is as a sword Even for those it loves, to wound and smart? Behold how little I can help Thee, Lord.

The Temple I would build should be all white, Each stone the record of a blameless day; The souls that entered there should walk in light, Clothed in high chastity and wisely gay. Lord, here is darkness. Yet this heart unwise, Bruised in Thy service, take in sacrifice.