I was alone with the Master,
I was weary and sick with pain,
For the fight with the passions had left me
With many a wound and stain.
And I bowed my head in the shadows,
To wrestle and fight with despair,
Till I knew by the light around me,
That the Master Himself was there.
I felt His hand on my shoulder,
As He whispered, 'Speak to Me.'
But I said in my fear, 'O, Master,
How can I speak to Thee?
'How can one that is mortal
Look into those eyes of Thine?
I of the earth and earthly,
And Thou, Thyself, Divine.'
Then methought His voice grew sweeter,
And in richer music ran,
'Stand up as a man to another,
And speak as a man to man.'
Then I rose with my burden of sorrow,
And lifted my shame-struck eyes;
And looked in the face of the Master
That was tender and sweet and wise.
One hand was still on my shoulder,
The other He put in mine;
His voice was the voice of friendship,
But the words He spoke were divine.
The words that were said can only
Be known to the Master and me,
When the dark hours come with their shadows,
And the lights die out that I see.