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BREAD UPON THE WATERS |
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The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder | ||
BREAD UPON THE WATERS
A melancholy, life o'er-wearied manSat in his lonely room, and, with slow breath,
Counted his losses: thrice-wreckt plan on plan,
336
This last the deadliest, and holding all.
Help was there none through weeping, for the years
Had stolen all his treasury of tears.
Then on a page where his eyes chanced to fall
There sprang such words of courage that they seemed
Cries on a battlefield, or as one dreamed
Of trumpets sounding charges. On he read
With fixèd gaze, and sad, down-drooping head,
And curious, half-remembering, musing mind.
The ringing of that voice had something stirred
In his deep heart, like music long since heard.
“Brave words,” he sighed; and looked where they were signed;
There, reading his own name, tears made him blind.
The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder | ||