Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 3).djvu/151

 I must see Him vast, sublime As the heavens,—a pigmy Time Needs a giant God withal! Oh, but thou mayst see Him near, See Him as a Father dear, Bow Thy head upon His breast, There, when thou art weary, rest, Then return, with face aglow From His presence, fair and free, Bear His glory down to me Worn with battle-thrust and throe! See, my Agnes; so to share Is the soul of wedded life: His, the turmoil and the strife, Hers the healing and the care; This and this alone, the true Wedlock, that makes one of two. Since thou turnedst from the life Of the world to be my wife, Boldly cast thy lot with me, This the work appointed thee Mine the stir and stress of fight, Battle in the burning sun, Watching in the winter night; But for thee, when all is done, To my parching lips to hold Love's full wine-cup, and to fold 'Neath the breastplate's iron stress The soft robe of tenderness. Surely that work is not light!

Every work that I have sought Is too hard for my weak skill; All the fibres of my will Gather round a single thought.