So, As Thou Wert The Seed And Not The Flower, Having No Form Or Comeliness, In Chief Sharing Thy Thoughts With Thine Acquaintance Grief; Thou Wert Despised, Rejected In Thine Hour Of Loneliness And God-Triumphant Power. Oh, Not Three Days Alone, Glad Slumber Brief, That From Thy Travail Brought Thee Sweet Relief, Lay'St Thou, Outworn, Beneath Thy Stony Bower; But Three And Thirty Years, A Living Seed, Thy Body Lay As In A Grave Indeed; A Heavenly Germ Dropt In A Desert Wide; Buried In Fallow Soil Of Grief And Need; 'Mid Earthquake-Storms Of Fiercest Hate And Pride, By Woman'S Tears Bedewed And Glorified.