Classic Poem

Because I looked into the eyes of pain
Fearless,—and into thine eyes when the sword
Of punishment was in thine hand, O Lord;
Yea, bade thee smite me often and again
If so I might re-enter the old fane
Of love, and thus escape the ghastly horde
Of sins and passions loathsome and abhorred
That surge around me with their mocking strain:—
Because I did not dread thine awful eyes
When there was anger in them and the fire
Of a strong God's invincible desire
And in thine hand the thunders of the skies,—
Let me now watch this woman's eyes instead
And touch her white hand for thine own dyed red.