Were there but some deep, holy spell, whereby
Always I should remember thee . . . .
Lord, see thou to it, take thou remembrance’s load;
Only when I bethink me I can cry;
Remember thou, and prick me with love’s goad.
When I can no more stir my soul to move,
And life is but the ashes of a fire;
When I can but remember that my heart
Once used to live and love, long and aspire —
Oh, be thou then the first, the one thou art;
Be thou the calling, before all answering love,
And in me wake hope, fear, boundless desire.