August 4

Keep me, Lord, with thee. I call from out the dark—

Hear in thy light, of which I am a spark.

I know not what is mine and what is thine—

Of branch and stem I miss the differing mark—

But if a mere hair's-breadth me separateth,

That hair's-breadth is eternal, infinite death.

For sap thy dead branch calls, O living vine!