Читать книгу Rampolli - George MacDonald - Страница 12

     If I him but have,1

       If he be but mine,

     If my heart, hence to the grave,

       Ne’er forgets his love divine—

     Know I nought of sadness,

     Feel I nought but worship, love, and gladness.

     If I him but have,

       Pleased from all I part;

     Follow, on my pilgrim staff,

       None but him, with honest heart;

     Leave the rest, nought saying,

     On broad, bright, and crowded highways straying.

     If I him but have,

        Glad to sleep I sink;

     From his heart the flood he gave

        Shall to mine be food and drink;

     And, with sweet compelling,

     Mine shall soften, deep throughout it welling.

     If I him but have,

        Mine the world I hail;

     Happy, like a cherub grave

        Holding back the Virgin’s veil:

     I, deep sunk in gazing,

     Hear no more the Earth or its poor praising.

     Where I have but him

       Is my fatherland;

     Every gift a precious gem

       Come to me from his own hand!

     Brothers long deplored,

     Lo, in his disciples, all restored!