Let the world's sharpness, like a clasping knife,
Shut in upon itself and do no harm to others
In this close hand of Love, now soft and warm,
And let us hear no sound of human strife
After the click of the shutting, Life to life---
I learn upon thee, Dear, without alarm,
And feel as safe as guarded by a charm
Against the stab of worldlings, who if rife
Are weak to injure. Very Whitley still
The lilies of our lives may reassure
Their blossoms from their roots, accessible
Alone to heavenly, out of man's reach, on the hill.
God only, who made us rich, can make us poor.
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