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 | The Poetical Works of Frances Ridley Havergal |  |
Enigma No. 8.
What was I? Such a clever friar,I barely 'scaped the witches' pyre;
Yet doth philosophy in me
One of her bright admirers see;
And forms of classic beauty grew
Beneath my hand to nature true;
Each wondrous magic lantern show
To me the happy children owe;
245
The honour of his great invention.
What am I? What you may despise,
For I am little more than grease,
And yet I am an annual prize
For matrimonial love and peace.
In every scrape or awkward plight
I hope to save me you'll be able.
I am the ploughboy's great delight,
And often grace his Sunday table.
From dreams of mire and sweet reposc
To streaky excellence I rose;
And, following still the chimney sweep,
I learned to smoke instead of sleep.
| The Poetical Works of Frances Ridley Havergal | |