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 | The Poetical Works of Frances Ridley Havergal |  |
Enigma No. 14.
I may be tall, and slender, and round,
Or perfectly square, and as flat as the ground;
No edifice ever without me is raised,
And yet, when 'tis finished, I never am praised.
Or perfectly square, and as flat as the ground;
No edifice ever without me is raised,
And yet, when 'tis finished, I never am praised.
The bears themselves, with a grim delight,
Hail me as an old acquaintance quite;
And a smaller quadruped lays its claim
With a feline addition to bear my name.
Hail me as an old acquaintance quite;
And a smaller quadruped lays its claim
With a feline addition to bear my name.
251
Glows there a heart in the English breast
Which beats for the injured and long oppressed?
At the thought of me it will rise and swell;
For each free-soul'd patriot knows me well.
Which beats for the injured and long oppressed?
At the thought of me it will rise and swell;
For each free-soul'd patriot knows me well.
Where may you find me? In sunny Kent,
Where the hop-pickers sing, while on labour intent
Or in realms of ice and eternal snow,
'Neath the gorgeous aurora's crimson glow.
Where the hop-pickers sing, while on labour intent
Or in realms of ice and eternal snow,
'Neath the gorgeous aurora's crimson glow.
In celestial regions I'm certainly found,
And wherever on earth there's an acre of ground;
Where his lordship's chariot proudly speeds,
I ever am close to the high-bred steeds.
And wherever on earth there's an acre of ground;
Where his lordship's chariot proudly speeds,
I ever am close to the high-bred steeds.
I have stood very near to the triple crown,
Yet I'm seen in the back streets of every town;
On the festal day of a short-lived queen
The chief attraction I've ever been.
Yet I'm seen in the back streets of every town;
On the festal day of a short-lived queen
The chief attraction I've ever been.
Attraction, said I? You little know
How much to my power of attraction you owe!
All the gold, and the pearls, the silk, sugar, and tea,
That are borne to your homes o'er the pathless sea.
How much to my power of attraction you owe!
All the gold, and the pearls, the silk, sugar, and tea,
That are borne to your homes o'er the pathless sea.
I may quietly stand by your drawing-room fire,
Bearing a comfort you often desire!
Or stretch my bold arm o'er the surging wave,
Some wretch from its billowy depths to save.
Bearing a comfort you often desire!
Or stretch my bold arm o'er the surging wave,
Some wretch from its billowy depths to save.
| The Poetical Works of Frances Ridley Havergal | |