Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 3).djvu/156

 From my little world of dreams, Live, thy wife, alone for thee!

Steep the path is, high the goal.

Lead, nor sternly spur, my soul!

In a greater name I call.

One of whom thou saidst that still He accepts the steadfast will, Though the flesh be weak withal! [Going.

Whither, Agnes?

[Smiles.]

Ah, to-day Home must have its feast array Thou my lavishness didst chide, Mindest thou, last Christmastide? All the chamber flash'd with lights, From the Christmas-tree there hung Toys and wreaths and quaint delights; There was laughter, there was song. Brand, for us this year also Shall the Christmas-candles glow, Here shall all be deck'd and dight For the great, still Feast to-night! Here, if haply God should peep, He of meek and lowly mind