A Bruised Reed Shall He Not Break

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I will accept thy will to do and be,
 Thy hatred and intolerance of sin,
 Thy will at least to love, that burns within
 And thirsteth after Me:
So will I render fruitful, blessing still,
 The germs and small beginnings in thy heart,
 Because thy will cleaves to the better part.—
 Alas, I cannot will.

Dost not thou will, poor soul? Yet I receive
 The inner unseen longings of the soul,
 I guide them turning towards Me; I control
 And charm hearts till they grieve:
If thou desire, it yet shall come to pass,
 Though thou but wish indeed to choose My love;
 For I have power in earth and heaven above.—
 I cannot wish, alas!

What, neither choose nor wish to choose? and yet
 I still must strive to win thee and constrain:
 For thee I hung upon the cross in pain,
 How then can I forget?
If thou as yet dost neither love, nor hate,
 Nor choose, nor wish,—resign thyself, be still
 Till I infuse love, hatred, longing, will.—
 I do not deprecate.

© Christina Georgina Rossetti