God answers sharp and sudden on some prayers, And thrusts the thing we have prayed for in our face, A gauntlet with a gift in it.

Life, struck sharp on death, Makes awful lightning.

I love thee freely, as men strive for right. I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. I love thee with the passion put to use

A woman's always younger than a man at equal years.

For frequent tears have run; The colours from my life.

My future will not copy my fair past, I wrote that once. And, thinking at my side my ministering life-angel justified the word by his appealing look upcast to the white throne of God.

And each man stands with his face in the light. Of his own drawn sword, ready to do what a hero can.