There Is No Shelter In

All My Life, Following Care Along The Dusty Road, Have I Looked Back On Loveliness And Sighed.

Beauty In All Things-no, We Cannot Hope For That; But Some Place Set Apart For It.

For My Omniscience Paid I Toll In Infinite Remorse Of Soul. All Sin Was Of My Sinning, All Atoning Mine, And Mine The Gall Of All Regret. Mine Was The Weight Of Every Brooded Wrong, The Hate That Stood Behind Each Envious Thrust, Mine Every Greed, Mine Every Lust. And All The While For Every Grief, Each Suffering, I Craved Relief With Individual Desire, – Craved All In Vain! And Felt Fierce Fire About A Thousand People Crawl; Perished With Each, — Then Mourned For All!

Need We Say It Was Not Love, Now That Love Is Perished?

God, I Can Push The Grass Apart And Lay My Finger On Thy Heart.