Not Poor and I measure every grief I meet — compare fractals

Side by side

0.007 apart. A smaller distance means the lines are built more alike.

This number is read from the build of the lines. The bright edge is that number, carried outward until the pattern repeats.

0.0776 − 0.7246i

0.0715 − 0.7212i

The poems

Each poem scrolls on its own, so the two texts stay beside each other.

Call me not poor; I nothing lack,
For lo, a voice divine
Has made me feel that I am His
And told me He is mine.

Weep not that on this weary bed,
I long must droop and pine;
Here I have learned the peace of God,
And know that He is mine.

Nor mourn that He has torn away
My idols from their shrine;
Blest be the Hand that gave, that took,
For Jesus still is mine.

Let heaven's own radiance through the storm
Of every sorrow shine,
I heave no sigh, I shed no tear,
Am His, and He is mine.

I measure every grief I meet
With analytic eyes —
I wonder if it weighs like mine —
Or has an easier size.

I wonder if they bore it long —
Or did it just begin —
I could not tell the date of mine —
It feels so old a pain —

I wonder if it hurts to live —
And if they have to try —
And whether — could they choose between—
It would not be — to die —

I note that Some — gone patient long —
At length, renew their smile —
An imitation of a Light
That has so little Oil —

I wonder if when Years have piled —
Some Thousands — on the Harm —
That hurt them early — such a lapse
Could give them any Balm —

Or would they go on aching still
Through Centuries of Nerve —
Enlightened to a larger Pain –
In Contrast with the Love —

The Grieved — are many — I am told —
There is the various Cause —
Death — is but one — and comes but once —
And only nails the eyes —

There’s Grief of Want — and Grief of Cold —
A sort they call “Despair” —
There’s Banishment from native Eyes —
In sight of Native Air —

And though I may not guess the kind —
Correctly — yet to me
A piercing Comfort it affords
In passing Calvary —

To note the fashions — of the Cross —
And how they’re mostly worn —
Still fascinated to presume
That Some — are like My Own —