<h2>XXIV</h2>
<p>Let the world’s sharpness like a clasping knife<br/>
Shut in upon itself and do no harm<br/>
In this close hand of Love, now soft and warm,<br/>
And let us hear no sound of human strife<br/>
After the click of the shutting. Life to life—<br/>
I lean upon thee, Dear, without alarm,<br/>
And feel as safe as guarded by a charm<br/>
Against the stab of worldlings, who if rife<br/>
Are weak to injure. Very whitely still<br/>
The lilies of our lives may reassure<br/>
Their blossoms from their roots, accessible<br/>
Alone to heavenly dews that drop not fewer;<br/>
Growing straight, out of man’s reach, on the hill.<br/>
God only, who made us rich, can make us poor.</p>
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