I Have Lived This Life As The Skeptic Lives It; I Have Said The Sweetness Was Less Than The Gall; Praising, Nor Cursing, The Hand That Gives It, I Have Drifted Aimlessly Through It All. I Have Scoffed At The Tale Of A So-Called Heaven; I Have Laughed At The Thought Of A Supreme Friend; I Have Said That It Only To Man Was Given To Live, To Endure; And To Die Was The End. But I Know That A Good God Reigneth, Generous-Hearted And Kind And True; Since Unto A Worm Like Me He Deigneth To Send So Royal A Gift As You. Bright As A Star You Gleam On My Bosom, Sweet As A Rose That The Wild Bee Sips; And I Know, My Own, My Beautiful Blossom, That None But A God Could Mould Such Lips. And I Believe, In The Fullest Measure That Ever A Strong Man'S Heart Could Hold, In All The Tales Of Heavenly Pleasure By Poets Sung Or By Prophets Told; For In The Joy Of Your Shy, Sweet Kisses, Your Pulsing Touch And Your Languid Sigh I Am Filled And Thrilled With Better Blisses Than Ever Were Claimed For Souls On High. And Now I Have Faith In All The Stories Told Of The Beauties Of Unseen Lands; Of Royal Splendors And Marvellous Glories Of The Golden City Not Made With Hands For The Silken Beauty Of Falling Tresses, Of Lips All Dewy And Cheeks Aglow, With - What The Mind In A Half Trance Guesses Of The Twin Perfection Of Drifts Of Snow; Of Limbs Like Marble, Of Thigh And Shoulder Carved Like A Statue In High Relief - These, As The Eyes And The Thoughts Grow Bolder, Leave No Room For An Unbelief. So My Lady, My Queen Most Royal, My Skepticism Has Passed Away; If You Are True To Me, True And Loyal, I Will Believe Till The Judgment-Day.