LENT.
IS it the Fast which God approves,
When I awhile for flesh eat fish,
Changing one dainty dish
For others no less good?
Do angels smile and count it gain
That I compose my laughing face
To gravity for a brief space,
Then straightway laugh again?
Does Heaven take pleasure as I sit
Counting my joys as usurers gold,—
This bit to give, that to withhold,
Weighing and measuring it;
Setting off abstinence from dance
As buying privilege of song;
Calling six right and seven wrong,
Compounding for the dull to-day
By projects for to-morrow’s fun,
Checking off each set task as done,
Grudging a short delay?
I cannot think that God will care
For such observance; He can see
The very inmost heart of me,
And every secret there.
But if I keep a truer Lent,
Not heeding what I wear or eat,
Not balancing the sour with sweet,
Evenly abstinent,
And lay my soul with all its stain
Of travel from the year-long road,
Between the healing hands of God
To be made clean again;
And put my sordid self away,
Forgetting for a little space
The petty prize, the eager race,
Opening my darkness to the sun,
Opening my narrow eyes to see
The pain and need so close to me
Which I had willed to shun;
Praying God’s quickening grace to show
The thing he fain would have me do,
The errand that I may pursue
And quickly rise and go;—
If so I do it, starving pride,
Fasting from sin instead of food,
God will accept such Lent as good,
And bless its Easter-tide.