Poems (Toke)/And can I better close these pages, fraught
ND can I better close these pages, fraughtWith dear remembrances, and many a thoughtOf youth and home, of bright hours passed away,And blessings still our own, than on this day,Our Wedding Day! to wake for thee once moreThose "wood-notes wild" which thou hast loved of yore,To let this finished volume end the sameAs first it opened—with thine own loved name:And worthless though these early strains may beTo all besides, (yet not, I trust, to thee!)To fondly ask, that thou wilt hold them dear,For sake of her, whose hand has traced them here?
ND can I better close these pages, fraughtWith dear remembrances, and many a thoughtOf youth and home, of bright hours passed away,And blessings still our own, than on this day,Our Wedding Day! to wake for thee once moreThose "wood-notes wild" which thou hast loved of yore,To let this finished volume end the sameAs first it opened—with thine own loved name:And worthless though these early strains may beTo all besides, (yet not, I trust, to thee!)To fondly ask, that thou wilt hold them dear,For sake of her, whose hand has traced them here?Oh! who can tell, how many a dream of youth,How many a thought of tenderness and truth,Of glowing hopes, of life's best morning hours,—The breath of Spring,—the scent of early flowers,Linger enshrined in these untutored lays,The faithful record of those bygone days!Here, early friendships live in all their truth;Here, later hours reflect the glow of youth;And deeper feelings, yearnings all must feel,For something more than earth can e'er reveal,Here murmur like the Spirit's fluttering wings,Her feeble strivings for immortal things.
Our children, too! Here each beloved one sharesA mother's hopes, a mother's fondest prayers.Oh! may they, when long years have passed away,Recall her love in every heart-warm lay,And feel, how blest soe'er their lot be then,A love like hers earth cannot give again.And more than all, Beloved Husband, hereLull oft is told the tale, so true and dear,Of all thy tenderness, thy constant truth,And love, that glows as in the days of youth,Unchilled by time, unchanged by changing years,Life's brightest beam, the rainbow 'mid her tears.Oh, chance what may, can my heart e'er repine,While thou art spared, while that dear love is mine?
God's best and choicest gifts for ever rest,Dearest, on thee and them. Blessing and blessed,Oh, mayst thou pass along the narrow way,That leads—though oft through clouds—to endless day!And if, whene'er thine eye may chance to gazeOn these brief records of departed days,A lay like this should soothe one careworn hour,Or waken thoughts which fall with softening powerOn one warm feeling which the world hath chilled,My task is done—my fondest hope fulfilled.
E.
July 4, 1848,