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I’m looking for a slower kind of burn
A fire to keep me warm for longer
Something that will last throughout the chill
I need a fire to warm the cold,
The cold that’s snuck into my heart.
Not a fire that burns itself out quickly,
Not a lust that leaves me sated
A slow burn to last the night,
A slow fire to ward off the things of fright.
Give me that slow burn to get through
To get through the ice that’s holding me.

He strained my faith—
Did he find it supple?
Shook my strong trust—
Did it then—yield?

Hurled my belief—
But—did he shatter—it?
Racked—with suspense—
Not a nerve failed!

Wrung me—with Anguish—
But I never doubted him—
‘Tho’ for what wrong
He did never say—

Stabbed—while I sued
His sweet forgiveness—
Jesus—it’s your little “John”!
Don’t you know—me?
If yet I have not all thy love,
     Dear, I shall never have it all;
     I cannot breathe one other sigh, to move,
     Nor can intreat one other tear to fall;
     And all my treasure, which should purchase thee--
     Sighs, tears, and oaths, and letters--I have spent.
     Yet no more can be due to me,
     Than at the bargain made was meant;
     If then thy gift of love were partial,
   That some to me, some should to others fall,
       Dear, I shall never have thee all.

   Or if then thou gavest me all,
   All was but all, which thou hadst then;
   But if in thy heart, since, there be or shall
   New love created be, by other men,
   Which have their stocks entire, and can in tears,
   In sighs, in oaths, and letters, outbid me,
   This new love may beget new fears,
   For this love was not vow'd by thee.
   And yet it was, thy gift being general;
   The ground, thy heart, is mine; whatever shall
       Grow there, dear, I should have it all.

   Yet I would not have all yet,
   He that hath all can have no more;
   And since my love doth every day admit
   New growth, thou shouldst have new rewards in store;
   Thou canst not every day give me thy heart,
   If thou canst give it, then thou never gavest it;
   Love's riddles are, that though thy heart depart,
   It stays at home, and thou with losing savest it;
   But we will have a way more liberal,
   Than changing hearts, to join them; so we shall
       Be one, and one another's all.

Which misses most,
The hand that tends,
Or heart so gently borne,
’Tis twice as heavy as it was
Because the hand is gone?

Which blesses most,
The lip that can,
Or that that went to sleep

With “if I could” endeavoring
Without the strength to shape?

Where Thou art—that—is Home—
Cashmere—or Calvary—the same—
Degree—or Shame—
I scarce esteem Location’s Name—
So I may Come—

What Thou dost—is Delight—
******* as Play—be sweet—
And Sentence—Sacrament—
Just We two—meet—

Where Thou art not—is Woe—
Tho’ Bands of Spices—row—
What Thou dost not—Despair—
Tho’ Gabriel—praise me—Sire—

— The End —