 | The poetical works of Lucy Larcom |  |
THE TRUE WITNESS.
Dear friend, I heard thee say to me,
“Christ is a dream:
The fiction of thy heart is He,
Its self-lit gleam.”
“Christ is a dream:
The fiction of thy heart is He,
Its self-lit gleam.”
In vain I tried to think the thought:
Life so bereft,
So empty, fancy pictured not;
Nothing was left;
Life so bereft,
So empty, fancy pictured not;
Nothing was left;
Scarcely the earth whereon I stood;
A star grown dim:
Earth, its Creator made so good,
So full of Him!
A star grown dim:
Earth, its Creator made so good,
So full of Him!
For all truth in humanity
With Him is one;
Through His dear children God I see,
Father through Son.
With Him is one;
Through His dear children God I see,
Father through Son.
Thine own pure life—thought, word, and deed,
A holy flame—
In lines of light that all may read,
Writes out His name.
A holy flame—
In lines of light that all may read,
Writes out His name.
No loving voice, however weak,
But echoes His;
Dear friend, because I hear thee speak,
I know He is!
But echoes His;
Dear friend, because I hear thee speak,
I know He is!
| The poetical works of Lucy Larcom | |