Lucy Larcom

More Life

NOT weary of Thy world,
So beautiful, O Father, in Thy love, —
Thy world, that, glory-lighted from above,
Lies in Thy hand impearled:
Not asking rest from toil;
Sweet toil, that draws us nearer to Thy side;
Ever to tend Thy planting satisfied,
Though in ungenial soil:
Nor to be freed from care,
That lifts us out of self's lone hollowness;
Since unto Thy dear feet we all may press,
And leave our burdens there:
But oh, for health, for strength!
A life untainted by the curse of sin,
That spreads no vile contagion from within;
Found without spot, at length!
For power, and stronger will
To pour out love from the heart's inmost springs
With constant freshness, for all needy things;
In blessing, blessed still!
Oh, to be clothed upon
With the white radiance of a heavenly form!
To feel the winged Psyche quit the worm,
Life, life eternal won!
Oh, to be free, heart-free
From all that checks the right endeavor here!
To drop the weariness, the pain, the fear!
To know death cannot be!
Oh, but to breathe in air
Where there can be no tyrant and no slave;
Where every thought is pure, and high, and brave,
And all that is, is fair!
More life! the life of heaven!
A perfect liberty to do Thy will:
Receiving all from Thee, and giving still,
Freely as Thou hast given!
More life! a prophecy
Is in that thirsty cry, if read aright:
Deep calleth unto deep: Life Infinite,
soul, awaiteth thee!