Page:Reuben and other poems.pdf/45

 Stands back and forth it, everyway. I see, Now that I must look closely, nought but Thee. For the plan’s Thine, the stuff, the tools are Thine, The making—and the breaking, Lord—all’s Thine!

Break me, then, if I’m usefullest that way; Break me, and let me help Thee. It’s Thy hand; It’s been Thy hand all thro’ and—she was broke.

. . . Man’s mind’s a little thing, but this is sure— Where’er I’m wrong, I’m right here—Work o’ His Must go straight thro’, no shirking and no sham. She never shirk’d. An’ if it’s hard, ’tis hard: But all the time it’s what He needs. O God, Master o’ men! You need me. I'll not fail! I'll e’en bide out my breaking to the end.”

The solemn hours paced on, darkness and stars And silence. There he stood but spoke no more.

Then came a comfortless and foggy dawn. He left the cliff, and to the hollow came Once more—paus’d, look’d—pass’d on, and went his way, First to deliver up his house keys, then To seek the parish workhouse, far inland.