Minor Poems, including Napoleon | ||
115
TO THE AUTHOR OF “MAY YOU LIKE IT.”
I
No vulgar boon does he bestow,Who thus to manhood's stormy strife
Recals those feelings, whose first glow
Blest early life.
II
O, many a blast has blighted mine!Yet seem'd I, as I linger'd o'er
These pages which develop thine,
To feel once more!
III
To feel how holy is the dowerOf love, and truth, and tenderness;
How godlike is their gentle power
The heart to bless.
116
IV
Thou art not one of those who deemThat all our nature's dearest ties
Are things which, on the Gospel scheme,
Man should despise.
V
Thou wouldst unto religion giveEach winning charm, that can supply
Our happiness while here we live,
Hope—when we die.
VI
Believing that the human heartTo him who made it still is dear,
Thou wouldst allure its better part
By love sincere.
VII
Even in many—stain'd by sin,Lost, in the rigid bigot's sight,
Thou seest a feeling yet—to win,
Which would do right!
117
VIII
Thou know'st how such, at times, recal,With bitterness of soul, the past;
And how they loathe, at times, the thrall
Which binds them fast.
IX
And thou wouldst gently loose each bond,By painting, to their wistful view,
Feelings as tender, pure and fond,
As once they knew.
X
Then, while contrition melts the heart,And purer joys the hopes allure,
'Tis thine, with blameless, childish art,
To point the cure.
XI
Well—“He who winneth souls is wise;”Wise in that wisdom from above,
Which to the wrath of man replies
That “God is love!”
118
XII
And he who labours thus may prove,Though some may wonder at his weakness,
The power that lurks in simple love,
The might of meekness!
Minor Poems, including Napoleon | ||