No pillow for your head, no rest on earth,
The broken heart can find no bandage here;
But a rich vein of beauty opens wide,
And a sweet stream of loveliness sings clear.
No haunting night of devils and fell things
Holds you entire, another siren song,
Born from translucent joy, gives spirit wings
And touches glory all the while you long.
Therefore embrace through feared mortality
Love is its own reward, though your self breaks;
For we are broken that love may come in
And give far more the very while it takes.
And though such tears may spring, and endless spring
From the deep rupture of our loneliness,
Love still! Embrace the sharpened blade! Its sting
Is mercy’s rescue from our fruitlessness.
We sing the songs of ashen pilgrimage
With fumbling lips and throats parched raw with pain,
But where our voices fail, the angels take
Our prayers, and garnish them with hope again.
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