 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
DEDICATION TO MY WIFE.
Life of my life, the better part
Of one harmonious whole,
Whence all the sunny fountains start
That water all my soul!
I cannot speak, I dare not tell,
However true it be,
One half the rapture of the spell
That links my soul to thee.
Of one harmonious whole,
Whence all the sunny fountains start
That water all my soul!
I cannot speak, I dare not tell,
However true it be,
One half the rapture of the spell
That links my soul to thee.
Thy heart is bare to human needs,
And never stirred by strife,
A home of pure and precious seeds,
That flower in faithful life.
Thy eyes are happy heavens of praise,
Whence thankless fancies flee;
Thy lips are thrones of prayer, that raise
My sinking heart to thee.
And never stirred by strife,
A home of pure and precious seeds,
That flower in faithful life.
Thy eyes are happy heavens of praise,
Whence thankless fancies flee;
Thy lips are thrones of prayer, that raise
My sinking heart to thee.
Thou art my guardian angel, sent
To bring me back to truth,
By giving virtues old and spent,
Another grander youth.
Thou art my guide, up rugged slopes,
To heights undreamed by me;
The inspiration of my hopes,
For ever flows from thee.
To bring me back to truth,
By giving virtues old and spent,
Another grander youth.
Thou art my guide, up rugged slopes,
To heights undreamed by me;
The inspiration of my hopes,
For ever flows from thee.
Great works that send their light from far,
Great words that strongly bind
The noble breast, rekindled are
When mirrored by thy mind.
High views that dying seem, or vain
To make their hearers free,
Turned into action sweet, regain
A larger life in thee.
Great words that strongly bind
The noble breast, rekindled are
When mirrored by thy mind.
High views that dying seem, or vain
To make their hearers free,
Turned into action sweet, regain
A larger life in thee.
2
I know thy inmost pulse is love,
A tender, tideless stream,
And that thy thoughts are far above
My highest, holiest dream;
I know thy face is wondrous fair,
Type of the grace to be,
And that all nature is a stair
By which I climb to thee.
A tender, tideless stream,
And that thy thoughts are far above
My highest, holiest dream;
I know thy face is wondrous fair,
Type of the grace to be,
And that all nature is a stair
By which I climb to thee.
The curve and colour of the rose,
Reflect thy radiant cheek;
And in the sweetest breath that blows,
I only thee hear speak.
While in the glory of the days
Thy presence still I see,
The moon that walks the starry ways,
But walks and shines like thee.
Reflect thy radiant cheek;
And in the sweetest breath that blows,
I only thee hear speak.
While in the glory of the days
Thy presence still I see,
The moon that walks the starry ways,
But walks and shines like thee.
The freshness of the morning sun,
The fragrance of the flowers,
The strains that through the twilight run
And make melodious hours,
The holy sights and heavenly sounds,
That haunt the mount or lea,
All find their centre and their bounds
In orbing only thee.
The fragrance of the flowers,
The strains that through the twilight run
And make melodious hours,
The holy sights and heavenly sounds,
That haunt the mount or lea,
All find their centre and their bounds
In orbing only thee.
The murmuring breeze, the laughing brook,
Keep singing of the same;
Earth's every charm is but a book,
In which I read thy name.
The vocal sweetness of the land,
The silence of the sea,
Are as the beckoning of a hand
That beckons unto thee.
Keep singing of the same;
Earth's every charm is but a book,
In which I read thy name.
The vocal sweetness of the land,
The silence of the sea,
Are as the beckoning of a hand
That beckons unto thee.
The common light, the common air,
And each unstudied grace,
Whatever is most good and fair,
These body forth thy face.
And though the world has many a lock,
Yet thou hast every key;
The secret of the rill and rock
Is secret none to thee.
And each unstudied grace,
Whatever is most good and fair,
These body forth thy face.
And though the world has many a lock,
Yet thou hast every key;
The secret of the rill and rock
Is secret none to thee.
All that is beautifully strange
Or fresh from nature's mint,—
The glow, the glamour, and the change,
On thee their image print.
All fruitful thought, that kindly speeds
The better world to be,
I trace in thy own gentle deeds,
And mingle heaven with thee.
Or fresh from nature's mint,—
The glow, the glamour, and the change,
On thee their image print.
All fruitful thought, that kindly speeds
The better world to be,
I trace in thy own gentle deeds,
And mingle heaven with thee.
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |