I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach.

Every age, Through being beheld too close, is ill-discerned By those who have not lived past it.

And I smiled to think God's greatness flowed around our incompleteness; Round our restlessness, His rest.

Get work, get work; Be sure 'tis better than what you work to get.

The soul hath snatched up mine all faint and weak,And placed it by thee on a golden throne,-- And that I love (O soul, we must be meek!)Is by thee only, whom I love alone.

I saw, in gradual vision through my tears, The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years, Those of my own life, who by turns had flung A shadow across me.

And if God choose I shall but love thee better after death.