“And human love needs human meriting:
How have you merited
of all man’s clotted clay the dingiest clot?
Alack, you know not
how little worthy of any love you are!
Who will you find to love ignoble you but Me,
but only Me?
All which I took from you I did but take,
not for your harms,
but just that you might seek it in my arms.
All which your child’s mistake fancies as loss,
I have stored for you at home.
Rise, clasp My hand, and come!

“Halts by me that footfall.
Is my gloom, after all, shade of His hand,
outstretched caressingly?
‘Ah, fondest, blindest, weakest,
I am He Whom thou seekest!
You drove love from you,
who drove me away.”—Francis Thompson

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