MY OWN.
Who has not planted some fair shoot,
Nursing it as the garden gem;
And seen foul canker sap its root,
Or rushing storm-wind snap the stem?
Nursing it as the garden gem;
And seen foul canker sap its root,
Or rushing storm-wind snap the stem?
Do we not meet hard blows, that fall
Upon the pile deem'd most secure?
Do we not grieve the strokes that leave
The poet mad—the rich man poor?
Upon the pile deem'd most secure?
Do we not grieve the strokes that leave
The poet mad—the rich man poor?
Do we not see deep love estranged—
Thrust from the heart it held so dear;
And all the dazzling garlands changed
For willow-branches, dead and scar?
Thrust from the heart it held so dear;
And all the dazzling garlands changed
For willow-branches, dead and scar?
Do we not see the pest-worm steal
The rose of Beauty to destroy?
Does not the frantic mother kneel
Beside her "own," her coffin'd boy?
The rose of Beauty to destroy?
Does not the frantic mother kneel
Beside her "own," her coffin'd boy?
"My own, my own"—oh, cheating speech,
How soon its falsehood smites the breast!
What monitors come nigh to teach
Man to be humble while he's blest!
How soon its falsehood smites the breast!
What monitors come nigh to teach
Man to be humble while he's blest!
Who shall presume with boasting hand
To trace such words on aught below!
It is but writing on the sand,
Where troubled waters ebb and flow.
To trace such words on aught below!
It is but writing on the sand,
Where troubled waters ebb and flow.
Our "talents" are but held in trust,
Grasp them as closely as we will;
And draughts that swim with highest brim,
The lightest touch will serve to spill.
Grasp them as closely as we will;
And draughts that swim with highest brim,
The lightest touch will serve to spill.
"My own, my own"—oh! who shall dare
Thus to defy Pain, Woe, and Strife;
When chance and change are everywhere,
And Death walks hand-in-hand with Life?
Thus to defy Pain, Woe, and Strife;
When chance and change are everywhere,
And Death walks hand-in-hand with Life?
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