Page:The Poems and Prose remains of Arthur Hugh Clough, volume 2 (1869).djvu/91

 Cursed for his sake, and mocking still with thorns And briers that labour and that sweat of brow He still must spend to live? Sick of my days, I wished not life, but cried out, Let me die; But at Luz God came to me; in my heart He put a better mind, and showed me how, While we discern it not, and least believe, On stairs invisible betwixt His heaven And our unholy, sinful, toilsome earth Celestial messengers of loftiest good Upward and downward pass continually. Many, since I upon the field of Luz Set up the stone I slept on, unto God, Many have been the troubles of my life; Sins in the field and sorrows in the tent, In mine own household anguish and despair, And gall and wormwood mingled with my love. The time would fail me should I seek to tell Of a child wronged and cruelly revenged (Accursed was that anger, it was fierce, That wrath, for it was cruel); or of strife And jealousy and cowardice, with lies Mocking a father's misery; deeds of blood, Pollutions, sicknesses, and sudden deaths. These many things against me many times, The ploughers have ploughed deep upon my back, And made deep furrows; blessed be His name Who hath delivered Jacob out of all, And left within his spirit hope of good.

Come near to me, my sons: your father goes, The hour of his departure draweth nigh. Ah me! this eager rivalry of life,