Page:Dreams and Images.djvu/50

 I could be quiet there at night Beside the fire and by myself, Sure of a bed, and loth to leave The tickling clock and shining delph.

Och! but I'm weary of mist and dark, And roads where there's never a house or bush, And tired I am of bog and road, And the crying wind and the lonesome hush.

And I am praying to God on high, And I am praying Him night and day, For a little house—a house of my own— Out of the wind's and the rain's way.

THE HEAVIEST CROSS OF ALL

I've borne full many a sorrow, I've suffered many a loss— But now, with a strange, new anguish, I carry this last dread cross; For of this be sure, my dearest, whatever thy life befall, The cross that our own hands fashion is the heaviest cross of all.

Heavy and hard I made it in the days of my fair strong youth, Veiling mine eyes from the blessed light, and closing my heart to truth.