I sought a man of God to cure my ill,
For I had learned surcease from pain and calm
Come not of matter. "Oh, what need I still
To do?" I importuned. "Is there no balm,
No positive prescription from above?"
"My child," he said, "God's potion is His love—
His all-embracing love."
Long afterward I sought the seer again.
"I had not plumbed the depth of ill the while
My flesh cried out," I said. "In grief I fain
Would leave a world that can no longer smile."
But he made answer, "Lift your gaze above;
Both pain and grief are done away in Love—
Unfaltering, deathless Love."
In direst need I sought him, but of late:
"Save or I perish," tearfully I spoke;
"A grievous wrong I bear, and bitter hate
Would claim me—speak the word that once awoke
A stricken heart." "My child, in God above
There is no sin, no grief, no pain. His love,
His perfect love, is All."
