XIX. I HAVE SOMEWHAT TO SAY TO THEE.

A word to me? a word for me apart No other ear to hearken—heart to heart? A word Thy hidden pleasure to impart? O Master, say it! Is it a word of love, entreating mine— Poor recompense indeed for love divine, Yet precious to that human Heart of Thine? Dear Master, say it! A word of blame? Lord, I deserve it—nay, No word of Thine can I deserve—yet may I know what chiding love would have Thee say? O Master, say it! A word to cast aside my craven fears, And bravely bear the cross these many years Dragged after Thee with protest and with tears? O Master, say it! Perchance a dreaded word, not once or twice, But often suing for a gift of price; Can I invite that call to sacrifice? Yes, Master, say it! A word from Thee the rightful course will trace, A word from Thee the shrinking spirit brace, A word from Thee bestow all needful grace, O Master, say it! No word of Thine but gives before it takes, And taking, generous compensation makes, And effort asking, energy awakes, O Master, say it! A warning maybe—frighted love’s disguise, How stern soe’er in seeming, kindly wise, Unveiling danger to unwary eyes? O Master, say it! Thy voice is ever music to mine ear, Silence alone o’erwhelms my soul with fear Say all, say freely what I crave to hear, O Master, say it! One tender word to Thomas brought belief, One pitying word, a kingdom to a thief, One only word would bring my soul relief, O Master, say it! New shape would aims, desires, affections take, New power of sacrifice within me wake, New need of toil and suffering for Thy sake, O Master, say it! One word, I know, Thou hast for me—a word In the still hours of prayer how often heard, Not long, perchance, its welcome sound deferred, O Master, say it! Word life’s incessant prayer must wrest from Thee; Word holding my eternal destiny, Word I must hear or perish utterly, O Master, say it! When past my little day of time and grace, Lone in another world I seek my place, And trembling fall before Thy unveiled Face, Dear Master, say it! Come!—blest recall from exile’s weary years, Rest from the awful strife ’twixt hopes and fears, Sweet word of welcome after toil and tears, O Master, say it! Though silent now, keep Thou that word in store, The word to make me Thine for evermore; By all Thy loving-kindness, I implore, Dear Master, say it!