Christy Miller Collection Vol 2 Part 45

Then set it down,

And said: It is still unripe,

Better wait a while;

Wait while the skylarks pipe,

Till the corn grows brown.

As you set it down it broke-

Broke, but I did not wince;

I smiled at the speech you spoke,

At your judgment that I heard:

But I have not often smiled

Since then, nor questioned since,

Nor cared for corn-flowers wild,

Nor sung with the singing bird.

I take my heart in my hand,

O my G.o.d, O my G.o.d,

My broken heart in my hand:

Thou hast seen, judge Thou.

My hope was written on sand,

O my G.o.d, O my G.o.d;

Now let Thy judgment stand-

Yea, judge me now.

This condemned of a man,

This marred one heedless day,

This heart take Thou to scan

Both within and without:

Refine with fire its gold,

Purge Thou its dross away-

Yea hold it in Thy hold,

Whence none can pluck it out.

I take my heart in my hand-

I shall not die, but live-

Before Thy face I stand;

I, for Thou callest such: