Poems (Hoffman)/An Invocation

by Martha Lavinia Hoffman

For works with similar titles, see An Invocation.

AN INVOCATION

O Happiness! where have your airy wings flown,
Art thou in the meadows, the groves, or the hills?
Oh, leave not the tired heart in sadness alone!
Come back, and the charms of thy promise fulfill!
Where, where hast thou gone, must we seek thee in vain,
In the city's gay whirl or in nature's wild glen?
And cry in despair: "What is loving but pain!
What is friendship but grief to the children of men!"

Oh! is there no prospect but parting and death?
Ah! parting ofttimes wears a bitter sting,
When death has no part in the faltering breath,
When souls have no solace, hearts nowhere to cling.
Farewell, saddest message on tongue or on pen,
But sadder when breathed in the silence alone.
Oh, come, sweet inspirer! where, where hast thou been,
While eyes have grown tearless and hearts turned to stone?

Come! come with the smiles and the gladness of Spring,
Breathe! breathe o'er the spirit the balm of thy breath;
Make the arches above with thy welkin song ring,
And the ashen rose blush on the pale cheek of death.
Peace! peace! bid the troubled waves catch the refrain;
Let peace like the moonbeams dissolve the night's gloom,
But when shall lost Happiness blossom again?
Oh, when shall the rose gain' its wasted perfume?

O'er mountain and vale we have sought thee afar,
Stray sprite of the sunshine, frail being of air,
We followed thee, long as a glittering star,
We reached to secure thee and no star was there;
We saw thee reflected in lakes of delight;
We launched and pursued thee in vain, far and wide;
We grasped thee a moment and checked thy swift flight;
But with us thou wast not content to abide.

Stay! stay! we entreated, but e'en as we plead,
Thou wert slipping away with the dew-pearls of morn;
We cried: "Do not leave us," and lo, thou hast fled!
Was it but to despair, that the spirit was born?
Was it only a dirge that was meant for the song?
Is Happiness only a phantom of air?
Ah! these are the questions perplexing so long
That rise like a surge ere the heart is aware.

But hush! there's a sound on the mist's sable wing,
'Tis the voice of true Happiness speaking so low
That only the soul hears the song she would sing,
And only the heart her sweet message can know.
"Come back, vain pursuer of pleasure and peace,
Beware of the hollow allurements of sin,
They blind and deceive you, your woes to increase,
My source is above and my throne is within.

"Above where the angels pluck roses of bliss
And incense is burned on an altar divine,
Within where the heart sinks in sorrow's abyss,
'Till I kindle my fires on its innermost shrine;;
Not all the rich dowry wealth can bestow,
Not all the devotion true friendship can boast,
Not all the gay blossoms ye gather below,
Can bring more than transient enjoyment at most.

"Cease! cease to go groping for toys that will please,
The flame that is quenchless descends from above,
Earth's cold, cruel ways would the warmest heart freeze,
That burns on its altar no incense of love.
I come, lo I come, with the message of peace,
With sunlight and gladness, with music and smiles;;
I come to bid woe and despondency cease,
I come to strew beauty o'er earth's barren isles!

Even death shall be glad with the promise of life,
And peace her millenium reign shall begin;
Sad farewells and partings with hope shall be rife,
When the lamp of true Happiness burneth within.
Come home, sad repiner, by life's tempest tossed;
Oh! not to despair was the spirit designed."
At the door of the heart knocks the angel we lost,
And with roses of bliss is her scepter entwined.