 | The poetical writings of Elizabeth Oakes Smith |  |
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THE TWICE-TOLD SEAL.
THE MOTTO BEING “GOD BLESS YOU.”
The letter was a common one,
A business letter too,
Announcing some commission done,
And thence its words were few.
I read it idly, tossed it by,
And then a pretty seal
And kindly motto met my eye,
That gave my heart to feel
A business letter too,
Announcing some commission done,
And thence its words were few.
I read it idly, tossed it by,
And then a pretty seal
And kindly motto met my eye,
That gave my heart to feel
A something more than business air,
As if for gentle dame
A dash of chivalry were there,
Half blended with her name,
And made the slightest office seem
A genial one to do—
It might have been a woman's dream,
Which she from knighthood drew;
As if for gentle dame
A dash of chivalry were there,
Half blended with her name,
And made the slightest office seem
A genial one to do—
It might have been a woman's dream,
Which she from knighthood drew;
It might have been; perchance the seal
Was carelessly applied—
“God bless you,” has a look of zeal,
Of earnest truth beside—
I lingered on the words awhile;
They alway touch the heart,
And oft, too oft, a tear beguile,
When the beloved depart.
Was carelessly applied—
“God bless you,” has a look of zeal,
Of earnest truth beside—
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They alway touch the heart,
And oft, too oft, a tear beguile,
When the beloved depart.
Days passed away the seal once more
I read with sweet surprise—
Not careless now, if so before,
“God bless you” meets mine eyes;
Some gentle hand the words again
Beneath the seal repeats,
And my heart feels nor idle, vain,
The blessing that it meets.
I read with sweet surprise—
Not careless now, if so before,
“God bless you” meets mine eyes;
Some gentle hand the words again
Beneath the seal repeats,
And my heart feels nor idle, vain,
The blessing that it meets.
I know not whose the gentle hand,
If ever pressed in mine,
If often met in social band
Where honor, truth combine;
I only feel, howe'er unknown,
Though drear life's path may be,
A quiet joy that there is one
Who thus remembers me.
If ever pressed in mine,
If often met in social band
Where honor, truth combine;
I only feel, howe'er unknown,
Though drear life's path may be,
A quiet joy that there is one
Who thus remembers me.
| The poetical writings of Elizabeth Oakes Smith | |