Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.

Sacrifice

LOVE suffereth all things,

And we,

Out of the travail and pain of our striving,

Bring unto Thee the perfect prayer:

For the lips of no man utter love,

Suffering even for love’s sake.

For us no splendid apparel of pageantry—

Burnished breast-plates, scarlet banners, and trumpets

Sounding exultantly.

But the mean things of the earth Thou hast chosen,

Decked them with suffering;

Made them beautiful with the passion for rightness,

Strong with the pride of love.

Yea, though our praise of Thee slayeth us,

Yet love shall exalt us beside Thee triumphant,

Dying that these live;

And the earth again be beautiful with orchards,

Yellow with wheatfields;

And the lips of others praise Thee, though our lips

Be stopped with earth, and songless.

Yet we shall have brought Thee their praises

Brought unto Thee the perfect prayer:

For the lips of no man utter love, Suffering even for love’s sake.

O God of sorrows,

Whose feet come softly through the dews,

Stoop Thou unto us,

For we die so Thou livest,

Our hearts the cups of Thy vintage:

And the lips of no man utter love,

Suffering even for love’s sake.