Page:Poems, Volume 1, Coates, 1916.djvu/238

216 O love, whose dearest pangs I bear,

This heart—this wounded heart—transform!

That all who seek its shelter may

There find a refuge safe and warm.

Were there no heaven of high reward,

Man's service here to crown and bless,

Were there no hell,—I, for love's sake,

Would toil with ardent willingness.

And if—O Thou that pitiest

The fallen, lone, and tempest-tost!—

If, Love Divine, Thou wilt but save

Whom I do love, none shall be lost!