| Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900. |
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| 1156. The Heaviest Cross of All |
| | | By Katherine Eleanor Conway |
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| I ’VE borne full many a sorrow, I ’ve suffered many a loss— | |
| But now, with a strange, new anguish, I carry this last dread cross; | |
| For of this be sure, my dearest, whatever thy life befall, | |
| The cross that our own hands fashion is the heaviest cross of all. | |
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| Heavy and hard I made it in the days of my fair strong youth, | 5 |
| Veiling mine eyes from the blessed light, and closing my heart to truth. | |
| Pity me, Lord, whose mercy passeth my wildest thought, | |
| For I never dreamed of the bitter end the work my hands had wrought! | |
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| In the sweet morn’s flush and fragrance I wandered o’er dewy meadows, | |
| And I hid from the fervid noontide glow in the cool green woodland shadows; | 10 |
| And I never recked, as I sang aloud in my wilful, selfish glee, | |
| Of the mighty woe that was drawing nigh to darken the world for me. | |
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| But it came at last, my dearest,—what need to tell thee how? | |
| Mayst never know of the wild, wild woe that my heart is bearing now! | |
| Over my summer’s glory crept a damp and chilling shade, | 15 |
| And I staggered under the heavy cross that my sinful hands had made. | |
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| I go where the shadows deepen, and the end seems far off yet— | |
| God keep thee safe from the sharing of this woeful late regret! | |
| For of this be sure, my dearest, whatever thy life befall, | |
| The crosses we make for ourselves, alas! are the heaviest ones of all. | 20 |
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