Then follow’d something more. A little space
The sea ceas’d working. Thereon dimlythrough
The darkness upon John’s weak soul there grew
A sad, white, sorrowing, reproachful face,
With eyes that look’d through life and every place,
As if the end of all our works it knew,
Seeing through all things to the one thing true,
To the lost glory, and the fading grace.
And a voice came moaning across the Lake:
‘My servant John! if thou hadst not been mine,
I would have suffer’d thee to marry her.’
And of the heart He was about to break,
Broken His own by that stern love divine,
Too sadly well He was the interpreter.
(Archbishop William Alexander)
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