 | At Sunset |  |
79
FOR THE SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY OF JAMES FREEMAN CLARKE
Who knocks? Pass on, I pray:
Thou hast mistook the way.
All that I had I gave in days of yore.
If that thy need be great,
Since Age doth me abate,
Ask jocund Youth to help thee from his store.
Thou hast mistook the way.
All that I had I gave in days of yore.
If that thy need be great,
Since Age doth me abate,
Ask jocund Youth to help thee from his store.
Yet stay. For whom the feast?
“For one to whom the least
Of what we owe is such fond gratitude
As from the dumb might wring
Attempted uttering,
And from thy lips the breath of song renewed.”
“For one to whom the least
Of what we owe is such fond gratitude
As from the dumb might wring
Attempted uttering,
And from thy lips the breath of song renewed.”
Then shall my heart indite
Whate'er my hand can write
From out the wasted treasure of my time.
For, silent here to sit,
And fear my failing wit,
My soul should count it very near a crime.
Whate'er my hand can write
From out the wasted treasure of my time.
For, silent here to sit,
And fear my failing wit,
My soul should count it very near a crime.
'T was thy persuasive thought
My errant fancy caught
When height of wisdom matched not length of years;
When still, with airy schemes,
And many-featured dreams,
I wrought at childish tasks with childish tears.
My errant fancy caught
When height of wisdom matched not length of years;
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And many-featured dreams,
I wrought at childish tasks with childish tears.
If ever to the good
Of holy womanhood
Mine own with saintlier spirits did aspire,
Where was the lesson writ,
My slumberous sense to hit,
As by thy hand, in characters of fire?
Of holy womanhood
Mine own with saintlier spirits did aspire,
Where was the lesson writ,
My slumberous sense to hit,
As by thy hand, in characters of fire?
For such a glittering net
Doth human souls beset,
That from its bonds they have no power to flee,
Till smites that sword of truth
Which owes no error ruth,
And by pain's costly ransom they are free.
Doth human souls beset,
That from its bonds they have no power to flee,
Till smites that sword of truth
Which owes no error ruth,
And by pain's costly ransom they are free.
'T were idle in this verse
The reasons to rehearse
For which we crown to-day thy front beloved.
Thou didst thy life impart
With such a gracious art,
We scarcely knew the spell by which we moved.
The reasons to rehearse
For which we crown to-day thy front beloved.
Thou didst thy life impart
With such a gracious art,
We scarcely knew the spell by which we moved.
What nuptials hast thou blest!
What dear ones laid to rest!
What infants welcomed with the holy sign!
Life's hospitality
Was so akin to thee,
That half of all our good and ill was thine.
What dear ones laid to rest!
What infants welcomed with the holy sign!
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Was so akin to thee,
That half of all our good and ill was thine.
In dark, perplexing days,
When sorrow silenced praise,
We saw thy light above the vapors dim,
In battle's din and shout
Thy clarion blast rang out:
“The victory is God's, we follow Him.”
When sorrow silenced praise,
We saw thy light above the vapors dim,
In battle's din and shout
Thy clarion blast rang out:
“The victory is God's, we follow Him.”
Thy life has had, like ours,
Its sunshine and its showers,
Has reached the heights of joy, the depths of grief;
But richer hath it been
By all the gifts serene
That make the leader, brother, friend, and chief.
Its sunshine and its showers,
Has reached the heights of joy, the depths of grief;
But richer hath it been
By all the gifts serene
That make the leader, brother, friend, and chief.
Bring then the palm and vine,
Roses with lilies twine,
And let us image in our offered wreath
The life enriched with toil,
The consecrating oil,
And love that fears not time, and knows not death.
Roses with lilies twine,
And let us image in our offered wreath
The life enriched with toil,
The consecrating oil,
And love that fears not time, and knows not death.
| At Sunset | |