AH, Love, through what unfathomed deeps
Thy feet have sped,
Up what bare hills and barren steeps
Thy hands have led,
What bitter nights and burning days
Have marked thy ways.
And I have followed all the while,
So close to thee,
Hoping thou wouldest turn and smile,
To gladden me,
To tell me we should safely come
To thy fair home.
But thou dost ever onward press,
With hidden face,
Ah surely none may wear thy dress,
None take thy place;
Ah tell me it is thou indeed
With whom I speed.
Dear Love, dear Love, thy tightening hand
Is stern and cold,
I see the gates of thy great land
Grown clear and bold,
And Death, alone, comes forth in peace
To my release.