 | Poems by Frederick Goddard Tuckerman |  |
155
The Old Beggar.
When buttercups break on each grassy side,
And the summer-long clover is far and wide,
And by air-hung crag, and gully dwell
The raspberry rose, and the blue bluebell,
What will he do? what can he say?
Will the lavish laurel his charges pay?
No: but the sun lies warm on the way;
And, if to-day will not, to-morrow may!
And the summer-long clover is far and wide,
And by air-hung crag, and gully dwell
The raspberry rose, and the blue bluebell,
What will he do? what can he say?
Will the lavish laurel his charges pay?
No: but the sun lies warm on the way;
And, if to-day will not, to-morrow may!
Yet late in this year, when the grass is dry,
And the grain is all in, and the garden by,
And on reach of river, and forest through,
The smoke of the Autumn is brooding blue,
What will he do? what can he say
To the purple swamp, and the hills' array?
Naught, but to whisper the adage gay,
If to-day will not, to-morrow may!
And the grain is all in, and the garden by,
And on reach of river, and forest through,
The smoke of the Autumn is brooding blue,
What will he do? what can he say
To the purple swamp, and the hills' array?
Naught, but to whisper the adage gay,
If to-day will not, to-morrow may!
156
But now, when the white drift is hurrying higher,
And the birch-log sputters like fat in the fire,
And the wind singeth boldly, and in the window
The weather-glass bubble is buried in snow,
What will he do? what can he say?
Out! is it ours to save or to slay?
E'en let him go whistle his lesson and lay,
That, if to-day will not, to-morrow may!
And the birch-log sputters like fat in the fire,
And the wind singeth boldly, and in the window
The weather-glass bubble is buried in snow,
What will he do? what can he say?
Out! is it ours to save or to slay?
E'en let him go whistle his lesson and lay,
That, if to-day will not, to-morrow may!
Heed not his cry, though you feed of the best,
And with warmest of feathers have fledged your nest;
From the wind of his garments shrink and scowl;
Slap the door in his face, and let him howl!
What will he do? what can he say?
What matter to us, if we preach and pray;
Stand him aside for a fairer day!
So, if to-day will not, to-morrow may!
And with warmest of feathers have fledged your nest;
From the wind of his garments shrink and scowl;
Slap the door in his face, and let him howl!
What will he do? what can he say?
What matter to us, if we preach and pray;
Stand him aside for a fairer day!
So, if to-day will not, to-morrow may!
Alas! when the daylight is weary to see,
When the grasshopper's song shall a burthen be,
When the jar of the cricket is bitter to hear,
And the hum of the harvest-fly stings the ear,
What shall we do? what can we say
When the heart is old, and the head is gray,
And Grief cometh home like a child to stay,
And to-day cannot help us, nor morrow may?
When the grasshopper's song shall a burthen be,
When the jar of the cricket is bitter to hear,
And the hum of the harvest-fly stings the ear,
157
When the heart is old, and the head is gray,
And Grief cometh home like a child to stay,
And to-day cannot help us, nor morrow may?
When we plant with tears, and in sorrow pluck,
And cometh cross-fortune and evil luck;
And the land is cold, and the stiff hands bleed,
And for harvest we hardly get back the seed,—
What can we do? what shall we say
If a selfish past we alone survey?
Dare we hope from the present a happier ray?
Or that, if to-day will not, to-morrow may?
And cometh cross-fortune and evil luck;
And the land is cold, and the stiff hands bleed,
And for harvest we hardly get back the seed,—
What can we do? what shall we say
If a selfish past we alone survey?
Dare we hope from the present a happier ray?
Or that, if to-day will not, to-morrow may?
Ah, no! but now reach him the holding hand;
Round his fading strength be an arm and band;
Be the wrong of the wretched your trust and task;
And when trouble comes home, then do you ask,
“What can we do? what shall we say?”
Thank God for the good we have done in our day;
Be the beggar's burthen our stave and stay;
That the cloud may be lifted, with full heart pray;
And, if to-day will not, to-morrow may.
Round his fading strength be an arm and band;
Be the wrong of the wretched your trust and task;
And when trouble comes home, then do you ask,
“What can we do? what shall we say?”
Thank God for the good we have done in our day;
Be the beggar's burthen our stave and stay;
That the cloud may be lifted, with full heart pray;
And, if to-day will not, to-morrow may.
| Poems by Frederick Goddard Tuckerman | |