An Apprehension
IF
all
the
gentlest-hearted
friends
I
know
Concentred
in
one
heart
their
gentleness,
That
still
grew
gentler
till
its
pulse
was
less
For
life
than
pity,—I
should
yet
be
slow
To
bring
my
own
heart
nakedly
below
The
palm
of
such
a
friend,
that
he
should
press
Motive,
condition,
means,
appliances,
My
false
ideal
joy
and
fickle
woe,
Out
full
to
light
and
knowledge;
I
should
fear
Some
plait
between
the
brows,
some
rougher
chime
In
the
free
voice.
O
angels,
let
your
flood
Of
bitter
scorn
dash
on
me
!
do
ye
hear
What
I
say
who
hear
calmly
all
the
time
This
everlasting
face
to
face
with
GOD
?
