 | Poems and Songs |  |
207
To Edwin Waugh.
ON A COPY OF HIS POEMS, PRESENTED TO THE WRITER.
I
Thanks, Edwin Waugh,Before I saw
Thy racy dialect verses,
Such tongue, to me,
Appeared to be
Fit garb for oaths and curses!
II
But here thou's foundBoth form and sound
For songs that move the people,
And point the way
To heavenly day
True as a Minster—steeple.
208
III
Yes, “Lancashire”A poet's fire
Ill fitted seems to cherish;
Yet, by such speech,
Thy songs shall teach
With force that cannot perish.
IV
To us they comeFragrant of home—
Where chance true friends ne'er severs:
True wisdom's streams
And wit's bright gleams
Here flash like northern rivers.
V
Go, sow the seedsOf manly deeds,
Thy worth—true souls shall know it;
Brace every heart
To bear its part,
Thou true-born people's poet!
VI
“Come whoam's” a gemOf lasting fame,
Most apt to win the rover
Back to his nest
From follies' quest
The working wide world over.
209
VII
Home! pole-star brightIn time's dark night,
Earth's wilderness oasis;
A lighthouse tower
Lit by the power
Of radiant happy faces!
VIII
Home! sacred word,Thy joys afford
Earth's purest consolation—
Where souls combine,
The hearth's a shrine—
A heavenward preparation.
IX
Home! that blest mornBeyond time's bourn,
Christ's flock in dust now sleeping,
Shall rise to thee,
Pure, ransomed, free,
To end earth's night of weeping.
X
Then “buckle to”And bravely hew
Thy way to manhood's glory.
Strength, freedom, rest,
A mansion blest
Shall crown life's battle story.
SAMUEL BARBER.
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