Works

There I halted. Further down the hollow
Stood the township, where my errand lay.
Firm my purpose, till a voice cried (Follow!
Come this way -- I tell you -- come this way!)
...

Not long ago, I prayed for dying grace,
For then I thought to see Thee face to face.

And now I ask (Lord, 'tis a weakling's cry)
That Thou wilt give me grace to live, not die.
...

"Owd John's got past his work," said they,
Last week as ever was -- "don't pay
To send by him. He's stoopid, too,
And brings things what won't never do.
We'll send by post, he is that slow....

"When He comes!
My sweetest 'When'!"
C. ROSSETTI.

Thus may it be (I thought) at some day's close,
Some lilac-haunted eve, when every rose
Breathes forth its incense. May He find me there,...