Love, at worst

I seek not love in fairest light alone, But one who holdeth fast when grace hath flown. When tempests rise within my weary soul, Wilt thou still stay, and make the broken whole? Love me not for joy or beauty’s bloom, But in mine hour of sorrow and of gloom. Should I fall low, with spirit sorely cursed, Wilt thou embrace me still - e’en at my worst? Save me not, but tarry at my side, When all doth fade, and hope itself doth hide. For in this heart, though battered and reversed, Dwelleth a love that longeth to be nursed.