Chips, fragments and vestiges by Gail Hamilton collected and arranged by H. Augusta Dodge |
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TO AGNES O'BRIEN
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 | Chips, fragments and vestiges by Gail Hamilton |  |
TO AGNES O'BRIEN
WITH THE “PLYMOUTH COLLECTION”
As the blind old Bard of Briton's Isle
Erst sung to the throngs of men
How once at the gates of Paradise
Stood poor “auld Nickie-Ben,”
And gazed at the passing happiness
Of the first and sinless pair,
And half repented him to destroy
The bliss he might not share—
So I, though never a tuneful note
Rolled over my cragged tongue,
Cannot choose but bless in my heart, Agnes,
Thy glorious gift of song.
Erst sung to the throngs of men
How once at the gates of Paradise
Stood poor “auld Nickie-Ben,”
And gazed at the passing happiness
Of the first and sinless pair,
And half repented him to destroy
The bliss he might not share—
So I, though never a tuneful note
Rolled over my cragged tongue,
Cannot choose but bless in my heart, Agnes,
Thy glorious gift of song.
110
I pray not that the years should pass
Unnoticed o'er thy brow,
That the burden of life may never weigh
More heavily than now.
'Twere wishing the pulse of a selfish heart,
Or the sloth of a sluggard brain,
For the thoughtless joy of thy childhood's hours
May never return again,
And the mind that thinks and the heart that feels
Bears ever a secret pain,
We must pass from the mystery of to-day
With a pang of nameless sorrow
Into the greater mystery
Of the unrevealed to-morrow.
Unnoticed o'er thy brow,
That the burden of life may never weigh
More heavily than now.
'Twere wishing the pulse of a selfish heart,
Or the sloth of a sluggard brain,
For the thoughtless joy of thy childhood's hours
May never return again,
And the mind that thinks and the heart that feels
Bears ever a secret pain,
We must pass from the mystery of to-day
With a pang of nameless sorrow
Into the greater mystery
Of the unrevealed to-morrow.
Nor do I pray that thy onward way
Demand no earnest toil,
For how can he reap in the harvest time
Who has never prepared the soil?
Or the cry of a wailing world be hushed
By sitting in silence down?
Or they who have never borne the cross
Be fitted to wear the crown?
Nay, thy life shall wane, thy light grow dim
If thy soul at ease reposes,
For the stout of heart and the strong of limb
Rest not on a bed of roses.
Demand no earnest toil,
For how can he reap in the harvest time
Who has never prepared the soil?
Or the cry of a wailing world be hushed
By sitting in silence down?
Or they who have never borne the cross
Be fitted to wear the crown?
Nay, thy life shall wane, thy light grow dim
If thy soul at ease reposes,
For the stout of heart and the strong of limb
Rest not on a bed of roses.
111
But I pray, Agnes, that thy life may flow
Harmoniously along
Like the grand and perfect symphony
Of a noble and stirring song;
That thine earnest work and thine earnest rest
Thy joy and thy woe may be
Commingled into a choral tide
Of spirit-full melody;
That thy voice attuned 'mid many tears
In the darkness of earth's long even
May ring out with the rapture of new-found bliss
In the dawn of a glorious heaven.
Harmoniously along
Like the grand and perfect symphony
Of a noble and stirring song;
That thine earnest work and thine earnest rest
Thy joy and thy woe may be
Commingled into a choral tide
Of spirit-full melody;
That thy voice attuned 'mid many tears
In the darkness of earth's long even
May ring out with the rapture of new-found bliss
In the dawn of a glorious heaven.
Hartford, Conn., Dec. 31, 1855.
| Chips, fragments and vestiges by Gail Hamilton | |