Lord of Love, Thy servant thus doth pray:
Abide Thou where my Lady deigns to stay,
Yet send Thy peace to lead me on my way;
Because the memories of the things that were—
That little blessed while with Thee and her—
Make me a heavy-hearted traveller.
And so, when some plain irks, or some steep hill,
I—knowing that Thy will was once our will—
Shall be most sure Thou livest with her still,
And only waitest—Thou and she alone—
Until I know again as I have known
The glory that abideth near our throne.