love poetry

What thou wilt, O Father, give!
All is gain that I receive:
Let the lowliest task be mine,
Grateful, so the work be thine.

Let me find the humblest place
In the shadow of thy grace;
Let me find in thine employ
Peace that dearer is than joy.

If there be some weaker one,
Give me strength to help him on;
If a blinder soul there be,
Let me guide him nearer thee.

Make my mortal dreams come true
With the work I fain would do;
Clothe with life the weak intent;
Let me be the thing I meant!

Love loveth Thee, and wisdom loveth Thee:
The love that loveth Thee sits satisfied;
Wisdom that loveth Thee grows million-eyed,
Learning what was, and is, and is to be.
Wisdom and love are glad of all they see;
Their heart is deep, their hope is not denied;
They rock at rest on time's unresting tide,
And wait to rest thro' long eternity.
Wisdom and love and rest, each holy soul
Hath these today while day is only night:
What shall souls have when morning brings to light
Love, wisdom, rest, God's treasure stored above?

Me thought, (last night) love in an anger came,
And brought a rod, so whipt me with the same:
Mirtle the twigs were, meerly to imply;
Love strikes, but 'tis with gentle crueltie.
Patient I was: Love pitifull grew then,
And stroak'd the stripes, and I was whole agen.
Thus like a Bee, Love-gentle stil doth bring
Hony to salve, where he before did sting.

Love is a hunter-boy,
Who makes young hearts his prey,
And in his nets of joy
Ensnares them night and day.
In vain concealed they lie—
Love tracks them every where;
In vain aloft they fly—
Love shoots them flying there.

But 't is his joy most sweet,
At early dawn to trace
The print of Beauty's feet,
And give the trembler chase.
And if, thro' virgin snow,
He tracks her footsteps fair,
How sweet for Love to know
None went before him there.

Like him who met his own eyes in the river,
The poet trembles at his own long gaze
That meets him through the changing nights and days
From out great Nature; all her waters quiver
With his fair image facing him for ever;
The music that he listens to betrays
His own heart to his ears; by trackless ways
His wild thoughts tend to him in long endeavour.

His dreams are far among the silent hills;
His vague voice calls him from the darkened plain
With winds at night; strange recognition thrills

Little vale, with fairy meadows!
Trees, that spread your leafy hands!
Flowers, clothed in softest beauty,
Lovelier than eastern lands!
Village! home of every treasure,
Thee we sing in strains of pleasure;
Village in the silent vale,
Lovely village! thee we hail!

How thy pleasant evening-shadows
Make our troubled passions cease;
And thy bright and purling rivers
Fill our souls with hallowed peace.
Village! tender thoughts promoting,
Like the clouds in azure floating;
Village in the silent vale,

With your fair eyes a charming light I see,
For which my own blind eyes would peer in vain;
Stayed by your feet the burden I sustain
Which my lame feet find all to strong for me;
Wingless upon your pinions forth I fly;
Heavenward your spirit stirreth me to strain;
E'en as you will, I blush and blanch again,
Freeze in the sun, burn 'neath a frosty sky.
Your will includes and is the lord of mine;
Life to my thoughts within your heart is given;
My words begin to breathe upon your breath:
Like to the moon am I, that cannot shine

Bless you, bless you, burnie-bee,
Tell me when my wedding be;
If it be tomorrow day,
Take your wings and fly away.
Fly to the east, fly to the west,
Fly to him I love the best.

Lord , when the sense of thy sweet grace
Sends up my soul to seek thy face.
Thy blessed eyes breed such desire,
I dy in love's delicious Fire.
O love, I am thy Sacrifice .
Be still triumphant, blessed eyes.
Still shine on me, fair suns! that I
Still may behold, though still I dy.


Second part.
Though still I dy, I live again;
Still longing so to be still slain,
So gainfull is such losse of breath,
I dy even in desire of death.
Still live in me this loving strife
Of living D EATH and dying L IFE .

Muses, help me; sorrow swarmeth,
Eyes are fraught with seas of languish:
Hapless hope my solace harmeth,
Mind's repast is bitter anguish.

Eye of day regarded never,
Certain trust in world untrusty:
Flattering hope beguileth ever,
Weary old, and wanton lusty.

Dawn of day beholds enthroned
Fortune's darling proud and dreadless:
Darksome night doth hear him moaned,
Who before was rich and needless.

Rob the sphere of lines united,
Make a sudden void in nature:
Force the day to be benighted,