 | The bells |  |
67
I MIGHT HAVE BEEN.
“I might have been”'s a weary lay
Too often sang, and foolishly.
With deeper care on heart and brain,
More sorrowful and full of pain
You might have been,
You might have been—
Thank God for what you are!
Too often sang, and foolishly.
With deeper care on heart and brain,
More sorrowful and full of pain
You might have been,
You might have been—
Thank God for what you are!
You might have won a poet's crown,
And swayed the Janus-facéd town,
Wringing applauses from all men;
But purer you might not have been,
Might not have been;
Truer, you might not have been—
Thank God for what you are!
And swayed the Janus-facéd town,
Wringing applauses from all men;
But purer you might not have been,
Might not have been;
Truer, you might not have been—
Thank God for what you are!
68
The gentle hand that clasps your own,
The lips that sway you with a tone,
Death might have chilled. Go not alone,
Like the complaining rain, and moan
“I might have been,
I might have been,”—
Thank God for what you are!
The lips that sway you with a tone,
Death might have chilled. Go not alone,
Like the complaining rain, and moan
“I might have been,
I might have been,”—
Thank God for what you are!
I have a prayer; 'tis not to crave
Exemption from a nameless grave,
Nor fame to stamp me with its seal;
'Tis that I may, when o'er me steal
The thoughts of what I might have been,
The thoughts of what I might have been,
Thank God for what I am.
Exemption from a nameless grave,
Nor fame to stamp me with its seal;
'Tis that I may, when o'er me steal
The thoughts of what I might have been,
The thoughts of what I might have been,
Thank God for what I am.
| The bells | |