Renunciation

Wakeful I lay all night and thought of God,
Of heaven, and of the crowns pale martyrs gain,
Of souls in high and purgatorial pain,
And the red path which murder'd seers have trod:
I heard the trumpets which the angels blow
I saw the cleaving sword, the measuring rod,
I watch'd the stream of sound continuous flow
Past the gold towers where seraphs make abode.

But now I let the aching splendour go,
I dare not call the crowned angels peers
Henceforth. I am content to dwell below
Mid common joys, with humble smiles and tears
Delighted in the sun and breeze to grow,
A child of human hopes and human fears