The Reliquary By Bernard and Lucy Barton. With A Prefatory Appeal for Poetry and Poets |
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| II. |
TO A FRIEND. |
 | The Reliquary |  |
176
TO A FRIEND.
“There's not a heath, however rude,
But has some little flower,
To brighten up its solitude,
And scent its evening hour.
There's not a heart, however cast
By care or sorrow down,
But has some memory of the past
To love, and call its own.”
But has some little flower,
To brighten up its solitude,
And scent its evening hour.
There's not a heart, however cast
By care or sorrow down,
But has some memory of the past
To love, and call its own.”
May thoughts, like these, my gentle friend,
In sorrow's darker hours,
Their blessed soothing influence lend
To hearts deprest as ours.
In sorrow's darker hours,
Their blessed soothing influence lend
To hearts deprest as ours.
Full many a flower hath fragrance cast,
And brightness round us thrown;
Full many a memory of the past
Our hearts can call their own.
And brightness round us thrown;
Full many a memory of the past
Our hearts can call their own.
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Nor were they only meant to bless,
The moment of their birth
If we, by wiser thankfulness,
Can lengthen out their worth.
The moment of their birth
If we, by wiser thankfulness,
Can lengthen out their worth.
Who gave them? Was it not that God
Whose goodness and whose power
Plants on the bleak heath's mossy sod
Its solitary flower?
Whose goodness and whose power
Plants on the bleak heath's mossy sod
Its solitary flower?
The memory of bright days gone by,
So dear in hours of woe,
The hopes that build their home on high
Alike to Him we owe.
So dear in hours of woe,
The hopes that build their home on high
Alike to Him we owe.
Nor less, though we may mark it not,
When cares and griefs oppress,
He portions out our present lot
With love and tenderness.
When cares and griefs oppress,
He portions out our present lot
With love and tenderness.
Then let us lift our hearts to Him,
Their only trust and stay,
Who, when the eye with tears is dim,
Can wipe those tears away.
Their only trust and stay,
Who, when the eye with tears is dim,
Can wipe those tears away.
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So shall the flowers whose beauty shed
Such brightness round of yore,
Their lingering odours richly shed,
Although they bloom no more.
Such brightness round of yore,
Their lingering odours richly shed,
Although they bloom no more.
And all sweet memories of the past,
Give humble faith but scope,
Shall prove in moments over-cast
A pledge of future hope.
Give humble faith but scope,
Shall prove in moments over-cast
A pledge of future hope.
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