George Willis Cooke, comp. The Poets of Transcendentalism: An Anthology. 1903.
Whom but TheeEliza Scudder (18211896)
F
From the deep shadow of foreseen distress,
And from the nameless weariness that grows
As life’s long day seems wearing to its close;
Thou veilèd Presence infinitely clear!
From all illusive shows of sense I flee
To find my centre and my rest in Thee.
Through thickest glooms I see Thy Light arise;
Above the highest heavens Thou art not found
More surely than within this earthly round.
And seek to throne Thee far in distant skies!
Take part with me against this self that dares
Assume the burden of these sins and cares!
How shall I praise Thee who art still most dear,
What may I give Thee save what Thou hast given,
And whom but Thee have I in earth or heaven?