Comfort

Comfort

SPEAK low to me, my Saviour, low and sweet

From out the hallelujahs, sweet and low

Lest I should fear and fall, and miss Thee so

Who art not missed by any that entreat.

Speak to mo as to Mary at thy feet !

And if no precious gums my hands bestow,

Let my tears drop like amber while I go

In reach of thy divinest voice complete

In humanest affection -- thus, in sooth,

To lose the sense of losing. As a child,

Whose song-bird seeks the wood for evermore

Is sung to in its stead by mothers mouth

Till, sinking on her breast, love-reconciled,

He sleeps the faster that he wept before.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning