 | The Chain of Lilies, and other poems |  |
Gentle Sorrow.
Oh leave me, friend! my grief is dear!
Leave me awhile to gentle sorrow!
From pride or hate this silent tear
No taint of bitterness doth borrow.
Leave me awhile to gentle sorrow!
From pride or hate this silent tear
No taint of bitterness doth borrow.
60
There is a charm in kindly pain;
The very heart that aches to bear it
Finds pensive pleasure in the chain,
And loves, at last, to feel and wear it.
The very heart that aches to bear it
Finds pensive pleasure in the chain,
And loves, at last, to feel and wear it.
Love, meek, though faithful, can impart
A sweet to every kindred feeling;
Love-born, the fond, bereaved one's smart,
Enfolds the infant germ of healing.
A sweet to every kindred feeling;
Love-born, the fond, bereaved one's smart,
Enfolds the infant germ of healing.
To sickness and to grief belong
A magic, blest and soul-refining,
That charms the heart, and holds it long,
By silken spells around it twining.
A magic, blest and soul-refining,
That charms the heart, and holds it long,
By silken spells around it twining.
By pain, or soft regrets chastised,
The spirit's vision'd sense grows clearer;
And, sensual gauds and aims despised,
The spirit-world seems strangely nearer.
The spirit's vision'd sense grows clearer;
And, sensual gauds and aims despised,
The spirit-world seems strangely nearer.
Etherialized and rapt, we gaze
From pinnacles of thought, half dizzy,
On earth; and, through a mystic haze,
Her stirring crowd seem idly busy.
From pinnacles of thought, half dizzy,
On earth; and, through a mystic haze,
Her stirring crowd seem idly busy.
If night bring rest, we dreaming sleep—
From sights celestial waking early;
And, through our tears, if then we weep,
Heaven's fading gates look bright and pearly.
From sights celestial waking early;
And, through our tears, if then we weep,
Heaven's fading gates look bright and pearly.
61
We seem to live a double life,
Like one in wakeful slumber walking;
Vacant, we join earth's daily strife,
The heart, meanwhile, with angels talking.
Like one in wakeful slumber walking;
Vacant, we join earth's daily strife,
The heart, meanwhile, with angels talking.
Above, the stream that all behold,
Acts, words, a restless mingled torrent;
Below, o'er sands of priceless gold,
Flows Meditation's under-current,
Acts, words, a restless mingled torrent;
Below, o'er sands of priceless gold,
Flows Meditation's under-current,
Blessedly, like this silent tear—
Oh leave me, friend, to gentle sorrow—
Is that an angel-voice I hear?—
Oh, friend, come to me on the morrow!
Oh leave me, friend, to gentle sorrow—
Is that an angel-voice I hear?—
Oh, friend, come to me on the morrow!
| The Chain of Lilies, and other poems | |