Poems (Blake)/To Dr. Jacob Bigelow
TO DR. JACOB BIGELOW.
(ON HIS 89TH BIRTHDAY.)
O head that wears the kindly state God grants to favored men!Slight bowed beneath the reverend weight Of fourscore years and ten;O hand that worked with earnest might The thoughtful brow's behest,And hewed a path for truth and right Where other feet might rest,—
What wish is left for us to frame That hope or pride hath knownOf love or trust or honest fame But life hath made thine own?Amid the wreaths our hearts entwine We hide no withered leaves,Where autumn suns serenely shine Above thy ripened sheaves.
All joy is thine that good life brings To memory true and fond. For eyes grown dim to earthly things See clearer light beyond.The message as of old it ran Still to our hearts is given,And man who loves his fellow man Is still the nearest Heaven.
Hail and Godspeed! May golden days Yet wait thy lingering feet,Love rest on thy accustomed ways, Fond hands be stretched to greet;Till, rounding all His poorer gifts Earth's varying pathway trod,The passing shadow falls,—then lifts And bears thy soul to God.