Love’s Compensation

I went before God, and he said, “What fruit of the life I gave?” “Father,” I said, “it is dead, And nothing grows on the grave.”

Wroth was the Lord and stern: “Hadst thou not to answer me? Shall the fruitless root not burn, And be wasted utterly?”

“Father,” I said, “forgive! For thou knowest what I have done; That another’s life might live Mine turned to a barren stone.”

But the Father of Life sent fire And burned the root in the grave; And the pain in my heart is dire For the thing that I could not save.

For the thing it was laid on me By the Lord of Life to bring; Fruit of the ungrown tree That died for no watering.

Another has gone to God, And his fruit has pleased Him well; For he sitteth high, while I—plod The dry ways down towards hell.

Though thou knowest, thou knowest, Lord, Whose tears made that fruit’s root wet; Yet thou drivest me forth with a sword, And thy Guards by the Gate are set.

Thou wilt give me up to the fire, And none shall deliver me; For I followed my heart’s desire, And I labored not for thee:

I labored for him thou hast set On thy right hand, high and fair; Thou lovest him, Lord; and yet ’Twas my love won Him there.

But this is the thing that hath been, Hath been since the world began— That love against self must sin, And a woman die for a man.

And this is the thing that shall be, Shall be till the whole world die, Kismet:—My doom is on me! Why murmur since I am I?