I GIVE thee treasures hour by hour,
— That old-time princes asked in vain,
And pined for in their useless power,
— Or died of passion's eager pain.

I give thee love as God gives light,
— Aside from merit, or from prayer,
Rejoicing in its own delight,
— And freer than the lavish air.

I give thee prayers, like jewels strung
— On golden threads of hope and fear;
And tenderer thoughts than ever hung
— In a sad angel's pitying tear.

As earth pours freely to the sea
— Her thousand streams of wealth untold,
So flows my silent life to thee,
— Glad that its very sands are gold.

What care I for thy carelessness?
— I give from depths that overflow,
Regardless that their power to bless
— Thy spirit cannot sound or know.

Far lingering on a distant dawn,
— My triumph shines, more sweet than late;
When, from these mortal mists withdrawn,
— Thy heart shall know me — I can wait.