Poems by Christina Georgina Rossetti Part 32

I came from Edom seeking thee, and sweet I counted bitterness; I turned not back But counted life as death, and trod The winepress all alone: and I am G.o.d."

"Yet, Lord, how canst Thou say Thou lovest me?

For Thou art strong to comfort: and could I But comfort one I love, who, like to die, Lifts feeble hands and eyes that fail to see In one last prayer for comfort--nay, I could not stand aside or turn away."

"Alas! thou knowest that for thee I died For thee I thirsted with the dying thirst; I, Blessed, for thy sake was counted cursed, In sight of men and angels crucified: All this and more I bore to prove My love, and wilt thou yet mistrust My love?"

"Lord, I am fain to think Thou lovest me, For Thou art all in all and I am Thine; And lo! Thy love is better than new wine, And I am sick of love in loving Thee.

But dost Thou love me? speak and save, For jealousy is cruel as the grave."

"Nay, if thy love is not an empty breath My love is as thine own--deep answers deep.

Peace, peace: I give to my beloved sleep, Not death but sleep, for love is strong as death: Take patience; sweet thy sleep shall be, Yea, thou shalt wake in Paradise with Me."

AFTER COMMUNION.

Why should I call Thee Lord, Who art my G.o.d?

Why should I call Thee Friend, Who art my Love?

Or King, Who art my very Spouse above?

Or call Thy Sceptre on my heart Thy rod?

Lo, now Thy banner over me is love, All heaven flies open to me at Thy nod: For Thou hast lit Thy flame in me a clod, Made me a nest for dwelling of Thy Dove.

What wilt Thou call me in our home above, Who now hast called me friend? how will it be When Thou for good wine settest forth the best?

Now Thou dost bid me come and sup with Thee, Now Thou dost make me lean upon Thy breast: How will it be with me in time of love?

A ROSE PLANT IN JERICHO.

At morn I plucked a rose and gave it Thee, A rose of joy and happy love and peace, A rose with scarce a thorn: But in the chillness of a second morn My rose bush drooped, and all its gay increase Was but one thorn that wounded me.

I plucked the thorn and offered it to Thee; And for my thorn Thou gavest love and peace, Not joy this mortal morn: If Thou hast given much treasure for a thorn, Wilt thou not give me for my rose increase Of gladness, and all sweets to me?

My th.o.r.n.y rose, my love and pain, to Thee I offer; and I set my heart in peace, And rest upon my thorn: For verily I think to-morrow morn Shall bring me Paradise, my gift's increase, Yea, give Thy very Self to me.

WHO SHALL DELIVER ME?

G.o.d strengthen me to bear myself; That heaviest weight of all to bear, Inalienable weight of care.

All others are outside myself; I lock my door and bar them out, The turmoil, tedium, gad-about.

I lock my door upon myself, And bar them out; but who shall wall Self from myself, most loathed of all?

If I could once lay down myself, And start self-purged upon the race That all must run! Death runs apace.

If I could set aside myself, And start with lightened heart upon The road by all men overgone!

G.o.d harden me against myself, This coward with pathetic voice Who craves for ease and rest and joys:

Myself, arch-traitor to myself; My hollowest friend, my deadliest foe, My clog whatever road I go.

Yet One there is can curb myself, Can roll the strangling load from me.

Break off the yoke and set me free.

DEVOTIONAL PIECES.

DESPISED AND REJECTED.

My sun has set, I dwell In darkness as a dead man out of sight; And none remains, not one, that I should tell To him mine evil plight This bitter night.

I will make fast my door That hollow friends may trouble me no more.

"Friend, open to Me."--Who is this that calls?

Nay, I am deaf as are my walls: Cease crying, for I will not hear Thy cry of hope or fear.

Others were dear, Others forsook me: what art thou indeed That I should heed Thy lamentable need?

Hungry should feed, Or stranger lodge thee here?

"Friend, My Feet bleed.

Open thy door to Me and comfort Me."

I will not open, trouble me no more.

Go on thy way footsore, I will not rise and open unto thee.

"Then is it nothing to thee? Open, see Who stands to plead with thee.

Open, lest I should pa.s.s thee by, and thou One day entreat My Face And howl for grace, And I be deaf as thou art now.

Open to Me."

Then I cried out upon him: Cease, Leave me in peace: Fear not that I should crave Aught thou mayst have.

Leave me in peace, yea trouble me no more, Lest I arise and chase thee from my door.

What, shall I not be let Alone, that thou dost vex me yet?

But all night long that voice spake urgently: "Open to Me."

Still harping in mine ears: "Rise, let Me in."

Pleading with tears: "Open to Me that I may come to thee."

While the dew dropped, while the dark hours were cold: "My Feet bleed, see My Face, See My Hands bleed that bring thee grace, My Heart doth bleed for thee, Open to Me."

So till the break of day: Then died away That voice, in silence as of sorrow; Then footsteps echoing like a sigh Pa.s.sed me by, Lingering footsteps slow to pa.s.s.

On the morrow I saw upon the gra.s.s Each footprint marked in blood, and on my door The mark of blood forevermore.