 | Pocahontas, and other poems |  |
153
THE FIRESIDE.
“Say, what have you brought to our own fireside?”
'Twas a mother's voice that spake:
“The wintry tempest doth loudly chide,
But peace and joy shall with us abide—
Oh, cherish them for my sake.
'Twas a mother's voice that spake:
“The wintry tempest doth loudly chide,
But peace and joy shall with us abide—
Oh, cherish them for my sake.
“A common stock is our happiness here:
Each heart must contribute its mite
The bliss to swell or the pain to cheer;
Husband, and son, and daughter dear,
What have you brought to-night?”
Each heart must contribute its mite
The bliss to swell or the pain to cheer;
Husband, and son, and daughter dear,
What have you brought to-night?”
Then the studious boy, from his storied page,
Look'd up with a thoughtful eye:
That knowledge gleam'd thence which doth charm the sage,
And shine like a flame through the frost of age
With warmth and majesty.
Look'd up with a thoughtful eye:
That knowledge gleam'd thence which doth charm the sage,
And shine like a flame through the frost of age
With warmth and majesty.
A girl was there, like a rose on its stem,
And her sacred song she pour'd:
Beauty and music, a blended gem,
Shook from their sparkling diadem,
To enrich the evening hoard.
And her sacred song she pour'd:
Beauty and music, a blended gem,
Shook from their sparkling diadem,
To enrich the evening hoard.
154
By a pale, sick child was a treasure brought,
The smile of patient trust,
For disease had a precious moral wrought,
And quiet and pure was her chasten'd thought,
As a pearl by the rude sea nursed.
The smile of patient trust,
For disease had a precious moral wrought,
And quiet and pure was her chasten'd thought,
As a pearl by the rude sea nursed.
An infant rose from its cradle-bed,
And clung to the mother's breast,
But soon to the knee of its sire it sped—
Love was its gift—and the angels said
That the baby's gift was best.
And clung to the mother's breast,
But soon to the knee of its sire it sped—
Love was its gift—and the angels said
That the baby's gift was best.
Then the father spake, with a grateful air,
Of the God whom his youth had known;
And the mother's sigh of tender care
Went up in the shape of a winged prayer,
And was heard before the Throne.
Of the God whom his youth had known;
And the mother's sigh of tender care
Went up in the shape of a winged prayer,
And was heard before the Throne.
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