Chapter VI

It came in Dresden, something like a year
More late than when my plan for life was changed.
The change seem’d sudden; but, you know, the blow
That swept from me my parents, fortune, all,
Could not but stun me, and I could not think.
No other theme seem’d mine; I could not write.

So came my change—no myth—I felt it all:—
One time, when, lonely, I to Christ had knelt,
I rose to seem not lonely; I was His,
He mine. I vow’d to live then but for Him,
To break away from every cord of Earth,
And make my life accordant with his own.
Not only would I think the truth, but yield
Each grain in all my being to the truth,
And sow in wildest wastes, where all should germ
In generations growing toward the good.

But still, a novice yet, though, like St. Paul,
To will was present with me; to perform
I found not how; but, on performance bent,
Within a chancel chanting with the choir,
I stood before an altar, half the day,
And half before my books, with cravings pale
For church and stole and sermons of my own.