Knowest thou not that of all human gifts
God chooses love?—alone, that may be laid
Upon His altar, who hath all things made,
And find acceptance:—to the hand that lifts
That precious price, the gates of heaven give way,
And wilt thou dare lightly to cast away
My soul's best offering, thou cruel child!
With wanton wealth of youth and beauty wild.
Who shall pray for thee, that there be not laid
On thee, in days to come, the bitter load,
Of love unrecognised and unrepaid?
Ah! who shall comfort thee, for all thy scorn,
When thou shalt wander, weeping and forlorn,
Remembering me, along life's flinty road?
