DEAR IS THE LOST WIFE TO A LONE MAN'S HEART.

Dear is the lost wife to a lone man's heart, When in a dream he meets her at his door, And, waked for joy, doth know she dwells apart, All unresponsive on a silent shore; Dearer, yea, more desired art thou—for thee My divine heart yearns by the jasper sea.

More than the mother's for her sucking child; She wants, with emptied arms and love untold, Her most dear little one that on her smiled And went; but more, I want Mine own. Behold, I long for My redeem'd, where safe with Me Twelve manner of fruits grow on th' immortal tree;

The tree of life that I won back for men, And planted in the city of My God. Lift up thy head, I love thee; wherefore, then, Liest thou so long on thy memorial sod Sleeping for sorrow? Rise, for dawn doth break— I love thee, and I cry to thee "Awake."

Serve,—woman whom I love, ere noon be high, Ere the long shadow lengthen at thy feet. Work,—I have many poor, O man, that cry, My little ones do languish in the street. Love,—'tis a time for love, since I love thee. Live,—'tis a time to live. Man, live in Me.