Poems

Not Mine

It is not mine to run
  With eager feet
Along life’s crowded ways,
  My Lord to meet.

It is not mine to pour
  The oil and wine,
Or bring the purple robe
  And linen fine.

It is not mine to break
  At his dear feet
The alabaster-box
  Of ointment sweet.

It is not mine to bear
  heavy cross,
Or suffer, for his sake,
  All pain and loss.

It is not mine to walk
  Through valleys dim,
Or climb far mountain-heights
  Alone with him.

He hath no need of me
  In grand affairs,
Where fields are lost, or crowns
  Won unawares.

Yet, Master, if I may
  Make one pale flower
Bloom brighter, for thy sake,
  Through one short hour;

If I, in harvest-fields
  Where strong ones reap,
May bind one golden sheaf
  For Love to keep;

May speak one quiet word
  When all is still,
Helping some fainting heart
  To bear thy will;

Or sing one high, clear song,
  On which may soar
Some glad soul heavenward,
  I ask no more!