 | Poems |  |
161
V.
Upon thy lips this nameOf mine so softly taken, first became
That which it is in very deed, the name
Most Christian and most kind, by which I claim
A wide inheritance;—and I have borne
This name so long, and only yester morn
Have learned its sweetness! so doth life—our field
Redeemed for us—but slowly, slowly yield
The treasure hid within it! all our less
Would grow to more, and this our Earth to Heaven,
Might we but pierce unto the blessedness
That lies so near us, might we but possess
The things that are our own—as they were given!
| Poems | |