Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/To a Child

To a Child.

"The memory of thy name, dear one,Lives in my inmost heart,Linked with a thousand hopes and fears,That will not thence depart."

 

Things of high, import sound I in thine ears, Dear child, though now thou may'st not feel their power,But hoard them up, and in thy coming years Forget them not; and when earth's tempests lower,A talisman unto thee shall they he,To give thy weak arm strength, to make thy dim eye see.

Seek Truth—that pure, celestial Truth, whose birth Was in the heaven of heavens, clear, sacred, shrined,In reason's light. Not oft she visits earth: But her majestic port the willing mind,Through Faith may sometimes see. Give her thy soul,Nor faint, though error's surges loudly 'gainst thee roll.

Be free—not chiefly from the iron chain, But from the one which passion forges; beThe master of thyself! If lost, regain The rule o'er chance, sense, circumstance. Be free.Trample thy proud lusts proudly 'neath thy feet,And stand erect, as for a heaven-born one is meet.

Seek Virtue: wear her armour to the fight: Then, as a wrestler gathers strength from strife,Shalt thou be nerved to a more vigorous might By each contending, turbulent ill of life.Seek virtue: she alone is all divine;And, having found, be strong in God's own strength and thine.

Truth—Freedom—Virtue—these, dear child, have power, If rightly cherished, to uphold, sustain,And bless thy spirit in its darkest hour: Neglect them—thy celestial gifts are vain—In dust shall thy weak wing be dragged and soiled,Thy soul be crushed 'neath gauds for which it basely toiled.