BECAUSE my body turned a clod,
And Death sat on this shrouding sod,
My soul rose upward, seeking God.
“ O Thou Who makest time to fleet
Before Thy holy judgment seat,
Lo, here I stand with muted feet.
“ In that far bower where roses spring
And little birds are choiring,
I found no sacrifice to bring.
“ Only my heart, this bleeding spot &emdash
; By Thee conceived, by Thee begot —
Where worm of hunger dieth not.
“Take it, O Lord! a scarlet stain
To set within Thy robe of pain,
And make Thee dream of earth again.”
Alice Brown.