Chapter 4 No.4

The moon came up the summer sky:

"Oh happy moon!" the lady said;

"Men love thee for thyself, but I

Am loved because my life is wed

To one whose message, pure and high,

Has spread the world's evangel far,

And thrown such radiance through the dark

That men behold him as a star,

And in his gracious coming mark

How beautiful his footsteps are.

"Oh Moon! dost thou take all thy light

From the great sun so lately gone?

Are there not shapes upon thy white,

That mould and make his sheen thy own,

And charms that soften to the sight

The ardor of his blinding blaze?

Who loves thee that thou art the sun's?

Who does not give thee sweetest praise

Among the troop of shining ones

That sweep along the heavenly ways?

"Yet still within the holy place

The altar sanctifies the gift!

Poor, precious gift, that begs for grace!

Oh towering altar! that doth lift

The gift so high, that, in its face,

It bears no beauty to the thought

Of those who round the altar stand!

Poor, precious gift, that goes for naught

From willing heart and ready hand,

And wins no favor unbesought!

"The stars are whiter for the blue;

The sky is deeper for the stars;

They give and take in commerce true,

And lend their beauty to the cars

Of downy dusk, that all night through,

Roll o'er the void on silver wheels;

Yet neither starry sky nor cloud

Is loved the less that it reveals

A beauty all its own, endowed

By all the wealth its beauty steals.

"Am I a dew-drop in a rose,

With no significance apart?

Must I but sparkle in repose

Close to its folded, fragrant, heart,

Its peerless beauty to disclose?

"Would I not toil to win his bread,

And give him all I have to give?

Would I not die in his sweet stead,

And die in joy? But I must live;

And, living, I must still be fed

On love that comes in love's own right.

They must not pet, or pamper me-

Those who rejoice beneath his light-

Or pity him, that I can be

So precious in his princely sight."

With swifter wings, through heart and brain,

The little hour unheeded flew;

And when, behind the blazoned stain

Of saintly vestures, red and blue,

The lights on rose and window-pane

Within the chapel slowly died,

And figures muffled by the moon

Went shuffling home on either side-

One seeking her-she said: How soon!

And then the pastor kissed his bride.