 | Hours at Naples, and Other Poems |  |
227
THE CHERISHED LOT.
My Lot is fixed—shall I complain
If it be Joy—or it be Pain—
Since oh!—if this or that it prove—
At least it ever must be Love.
If it be Joy—or it be Pain—
Since oh!—if this or that it prove—
At least it ever must be Love.
And if—oh! Heavenly Providence,
I am doomed to draw but Grief from thence,
I feel I so shall love my Grief,
I shall not wish e'en for relief!
I am doomed to draw but Grief from thence,
I feel I so shall love my Grief,
I shall not wish e'en for relief!
Be but that Bitterness mine all,
Nor let o'er thee its shadow fall,
And well the burthen I can bear—
Though darkening—darkening to Despair!
Nor let o'er thee its shadow fall,
And well the burthen I can bear—
Though darkening—darkening to Despair!
228
Be all that Bitterness mine own—
So long as Grief is mine alone—
So long as it may touch not thee,
What Grief can harm or trouble me?
So long as Grief is mine alone—
So long as it may touch not thee,
What Grief can harm or trouble me?
Then let me joy my Lot is fixed,
Come weal—come woe—come both commixed,
At least that cherished Lot shall prove
One deathless Destiny of Love!
Come weal—come woe—come both commixed,
At least that cherished Lot shall prove
One deathless Destiny of Love!
| Hours at Naples, and Other Poems | |