Then

I give thee treasures hour by hour,That old-time princes asked in vain,And pined for in their useless power,Or died of passion's eager pain.

I give thee love as God gives light,Aside from merit or from prayer,Rejoicing in its own delight,And freer than the lavish air.

I give thee prayers like jewels strungOn golden threads of hope and fear,And tenderer thoughts than ever hungIn a sad angel's pitying tear.

As earth pours freely to the seaIts thousand streams of wealth untold,So flows my silent life to thee,Glad that its very sands are gold.

What care I for thy carelessness?I give from depths that overflow;Regardless that their power to blessThy spirit cannot sound or know.

Far lingering on a distant dawn,My triumph shines, more sweet than late,When, from these mortal mists withdrawn,Thine heart shall know me,—I can wait.