| Andrew Macphail, comp. The Book of Sorrow. 1916. | | | XII. Love and Death
Not Thou but I | | By Philip Bourke Marston (1850–1887) |
| | | IT must have been for one of us, my own, | |
| To drink this cup and eat this bitter bread. | |
| Had not my tears upon thy face been shed, | |
| Thy tears had dropped on mine; if I alone | |
| Did not walk now, thy spirit would have known | 5 |
| My loneliness; and did my feet not tread | |
| This weary path and steep, thy feet had bled | |
| For mine, and thy mouth had for mine made moan: | |
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| And so it comforts me, yea, not in vain, | |
| To think of thine eternity of sleep; | 10 |
| To know thine eyes are tearless though mine weep: | |
| And when this cup’s last bitterness I drain, | |
| One thought shall still its primal sweetness keep,— | |
| Thou hadst the peace and I the undying pain. | | | | |
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