Chapter 8 A Thought For A Lonely Death-Bed

IF God compel thee to this destiny, To die alone, with none beside thy bed To ruffle round with sobs thy last word said And mark with tears the pulses ebb from thee,-- Pray then alone, O Christ, come tenderly! By thy forsaken Sonship in the red Drear wine-press,--by the wilderness out-spread,-- And the lone garden where thine agony Fell bloody from thy brow,--by all of those Permitted desolations, comfort mine! No earthly friend being near me, interpose No deathly angel twixt my face aud thine, But stoop Thyself to gather my life rose, And smile away my mortal to Divine!