 | Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood |  |
420
LXVII. IT IS THIS RESTLESS HEART WITHIN.
... Act, in the living Present—
Heart within, and God o'erhead.—
Longfellow.
Heart within, and God o'erhead.—
Longfellow.
It is this restless heart within,
It is yon smiling heaven o'erhead,
That will not let the Present win
The wingéd thoughts that far have fled.
It is yon smiling heaven o'erhead,
That will not let the Present win
The wingéd thoughts that far have fled.
I try to hush the wistful heart,
I try to calm the beggar mind;
I try to act my present part,
With wishes chain'd and will confined.
I try to calm the beggar mind;
I try to act my present part,
With wishes chain'd and will confined.
I try to fold the fluttering wings
Of Aspiration close and still;
To meet whate'er the moment brings,
And each ignoble care fulfil.
Of Aspiration close and still;
To meet whate'er the moment brings,
And each ignoble care fulfil.
But ah! repress it as you may,
Its pleading hush, its grieving chide,
Fetter it in its cage of clay,
And from its eyes its heaven-home hide,—
Its pleading hush, its grieving chide,
Fetter it in its cage of clay,
And from its eyes its heaven-home hide,—
The rebel soul will beat the bars
With burning wing and passionate song,
And pour, to the benignant stars,
The earnest story of its wrong.
With burning wing and passionate song,
And pour, to the benignant stars,
The earnest story of its wrong.
| Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood | |