Faith Trembling

Were I a happy bird,
Building my little nest each early spring,
It might be easy then to keep God’s word,
His praise to sing;
Easy to live content,
Tending my little ones,—of love secure,
Knowing no agony for time misspent,
Or thought impure!

Were I a butterfly,
A bright-winged creature of the sunshine born,
Idle and lovely I could live and die
Without self-scorn;
I need not fear
To take my utmost will of summer sweet;
Nor dread, when the swift end came near,
My Judge to meet!

If I were only made
Patient, and calm, and pure, as angels are,
I had not been so doubtful,—sore afraid
Of sin and care;
It would seem sweet and good
To bear the heavy cross that martyrs take,
The passion and the pain of womanhood
For my Lord’s sake.

But strong, and fair, and young,
I dread my glowing limbs,—my heart of fire,
My soul that trembles like a harp full strung
To keen desire!
O, wild and idle words!
Will God’s large charity and patience be
Given unto butterflies and singing birds,
And not to me?