The Homage Of Death

How willingly I yield to Thee This very dust! My body--that was not enough! Fair was it as a silken stuff, Or as a spice, or gold, Fair to behold!

Beloved, I give Thee all This Adam’s Fall, This my desert-- Thy Father would not let Thee see Corruption, but I give it Thee. Behold me thus abhorred, My penance, Lord!

A handful in Thy Hand, As if of fair, white sand, Thou wroughtest me; Clean was I for a little while.... This dust is of another style; Its fumes, most vile of sin To stink begin.

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O Victor King, and when Thou raisest me again, For me no fame; Just white amid the whiter souls, Efface me ’mid the shining stoles, Lost in a lovely brood, And multitude:

My soul even as the Maid Cophetua arrayed In samite fine; And set her by Him on His throne, O Christ, what homage can atone For this caprice in Thee To worship me?