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Home  »  An American Anthology, 1787–1900  »  848 Faith Trembling

Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.

By Mary AingeDe Vere

848 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?