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Unselfish Love

Love, like verdant spring,
Bright, beautiful thing,
     Steps forth from the winter of self;
Yet, like the fair dawn
On the poor man's lawn,
     Is too rich to be purchased by pelf.

Pure love, like the root,
Exists for the fruit,
     Content to lie hid from our view,
Beneath the cold sod:
The image of God,
     Who, pervading all things through and through,

Works ever the same,
Unheeding of blame
     Or praise--like the stillness of night--
In the untrodden waste,
And provinces vast
     And peopled concealed from all sight.

Pure love is the flower
That laughs when clouds lower,
     Expecting the soft vernal rains
To ripen the seed,
But takes little heed
     Of the ills her own beauty sustains:

Or like the fair star,
That shineth from far,
     When all things are buried in night;
But when the bright day,
With worthier ray,
     Robes nature in vesture of light,

So gently retires,
Till darkness requires
     Her aid, when she noiselessly steals,
Once more to her post
Of duty, and lost
     To all selfish interest, feels

The pure joy of love;
But soon as, above
     The sky verge, orbed Luna is seen,
She leaves night so fair,
As best, to her care,
     And retires to the blue depths serene.

Christian Poetry by Reverend J. A. Allen
Public Domain