POEMS.
123
Affection's cup is to the utmost rim
O'erfull with tears, that ever fall and start
From grief that sobs a sacrificial hymn
Writ from the life-blood of a human heart.
O'erfull with tears, that ever fall and start
From grief that sobs a sacrificial hymn
Writ from the life-blood of a human heart.
But He who drank it 'neath the shadowing cross,
In that still garden of Gethsemane,
Will help me bear the weight of coming loss
In this mine hour of speechless agony.
In that still garden of Gethsemane,
Will help me bear the weight of coming loss
In this mine hour of speechless agony.
Lord! if it be Thy will that she must die,
Ne'er would I murmur, for the love of One
Who suffered more than mortal agony,
Yet meekly prayed, "Thy will, not mine be done."
Ne'er would I murmur, for the love of One
Who suffered more than mortal agony,
Yet meekly prayed, "Thy will, not mine be done."
VALE, VALE.
GO forth, my little book, launched to the world at last,
A tiny bark and frail upon life's ocean cast,
Borne here and there, maybe, within man's changing mind
Like stormy waves sea-tossed before the mighty wind,
Perchance to land at last within a pleasant realm
Of sunny skies serene, with fancy at the helm!
A tiny bark and frail upon life's ocean cast,
Borne here and there, maybe, within man's changing mind
Like stormy waves sea-tossed before the mighty wind,
Perchance to land at last within a pleasant realm
Of sunny skies serene, with fancy at the helm!
In the great tides of thought that swell within the breast
May some few words of mine speak hopefully of rest,
May some few words of mine speak hopefully of rest,
