When She Came to Glory

NAY, loose my hand and let me go!
God’s glories pierce and frighten.
I want my house, my fires, my bread,
My sheets to wash and whiten.

I liked the dusty roads of earth,
The brambles and the roaming;
I liked the flowers that used to fade,
The small lamp in the gloaming.

The fields of God they blind my eyes.
Dread is this heavenly tillage.
I want the sweet lost homeliness
Of the dooryards of our village.

Where are the accustomed common things,
The cups we drank together;
The old shoes that he laced for me,
The cape for rainy weather?

Dear were our stumbling human ways,
His words’ impetuous flurry,
His tossed hair, the kind anxious brow,
The step’s too eager hurry.

O tall archangel with such wings,
Your beauty is too burning!
Give me once more my threadbare dress
And the sound of his feet returning.