A Plea for Trust

MY friend, do you believe I rate my soul
As better than it is ? Then let it be,
Nor rob me of the nobler part of me.
Better a half truth than a lying whole.
I am that part I would myself conceive ;
’T is through such errors martyrs face the flame,
Smiling, and keep down cowardice for shame,
Since they in God and in themselves believe.
What is the Rose? ’T is not a thorny bush,
But June incarnate bidding hearts rejoice ;
This small brown bird is not the woodland thrush,
But all the summer’s sweetness in a voice.
The soul’s true self is that which closest lies
To the dumb mighty heart whence all things rise.
Lilia Cabot Perry.