O weary Champion of the Cross, lie still: Sleep thou at length the all-embracing sleep: Long was thy sowing day, rest now and reap: Thy fast was long, feast now thy spirit's fill. Yea, take thy fill of love, because thy will Chose love not in the shallows but the deep: Thy tides were springtides, set against the neap Of calmer souls: thy flood rebuked their rill. Now night has come to thee--please God, of rest: So some time must it come to every man; To first and last, where many last are first. Now fixed and finished thine eternal plan, Thy best has done its best, thy worst its worst: Thy best its best, please God, thy best its best.
