 | Letters of Laura D'Auverne |  |
189
THE BETTER SPIRIT.
He prized not things as some men prize,
Who reck not of the spirit's strife;
But seeing earth with earthly eyes,
Find common joy in common life!
He would have searched the farthest clime,
That garden of the soul to find,
Whose flowers are precious to all time,—
Whose fruits immortalize mankind.
Who reck not of the spirit's strife;
But seeing earth with earthly eyes,
Find common joy in common life!
He would have searched the farthest clime,
That garden of the soul to find,
Whose flowers are precious to all time,—
Whose fruits immortalize mankind.
Poor heart, he said, that still would bless,
Still spread thy loving light around,
Men leave thee to thy loneliness,—
Thy spirit hath too weak a sound.
An angel's trumpet could not reach
This stern and stony ear of Earth;
An angel dying could not teach
This mammon world,—an angel's worth
Still spread thy loving light around,
Men leave thee to thy loneliness,—
Thy spirit hath too weak a sound.
An angel's trumpet could not reach
This stern and stony ear of Earth;
An angel dying could not teach
This mammon world,—an angel's worth
| Letters of Laura D'Auverne | |