Page:The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter.djvu/279

260 Not at my door then must you cry complaining Your lot unjust. But His who thrust You from His door, your body maiming.

Not mine the pleasure that you bear this pain. Hurled into being Without hope of freeing By grief and patience a soul for any gain. Thus I reproached God while I tended The sores to healing. A voice stealing And whispering out of the beast I friended,

Said, “God had quickened my flesh, bestowing Joys without measure, Made for its pleasure, An Eden's garden for ever glowing. Gave me to Man, his care and protection To gain and to give, And bid us so live In united bonds of help and affection.

“Man wrecked our garden, so we were hurled Out from the skies Of Paradise Into the sorrows of a weeping world He forgets my care; I, as God has said, Give still afiEection For that connection Which into all our bodies life has breathed.

“And why are you abusing God, and praising With mock effacement And false abasement Your own heart's kindness, deeming it amazing That you should do this duty for my sake,