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Love's Service

by Jean Blewett

Your presence is a psalm of praise,
And as its measure grandly rings
God's finger finds my heart and plays
A te deum upon its strings.
I never see you but I feel
That I in gratitude must kneel.

Your head down-bent, the brow of snow
Crowned with the shining braids of hair,
To me, because I love you so,
Is in itself a tender prayer,
All faith, all meekness, and all trust—
"Amen!" I cry, because I must.

Your clear eyes hold the text apart,
And shame my love of place and pelf
With, "Love the Lord with all thine heart,
And love thy neighbor as thyself!"
Dear eyes and true,—I sorely need
More knowledge of your gracious creed.

About your lips the summer lies—
Who runs may read each subtle lure
To draw me nearer to the skies,
And make me strong, and keep me pure.
I loathe my worldliness and guile
Each time your red lips on me smile.

The benediction of your face—
Your lifted face—doth make a road
For white-robed peace and golden grace
To reach my heart and take its load.
Dear woman saint, I bow the knee,
And give God thanks for love and thee!

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