 | The poetical works of Lucy Larcom |  |
YET ONWARD.
I thank Thee, Lord, for precious things
Which Thou into my life hast brought;
More gratefully my spirit sings
Its thanks for all I yet have not.
Which Thou into my life hast brought;
More gratefully my spirit sings
Its thanks for all I yet have not.
How fair Thy world to me has been!
How dear the friends who breathe its air!
But who can guess what waits within
Thine opening realms, Thy worlds more fair?
How dear the friends who breathe its air!
But who can guess what waits within
Thine opening realms, Thy worlds more fair?
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That which I had has slipped away,
Lost in the abysses of the Past;
By that I lack am I to-day
Heir of Thine undawned æons vast.
Lost in the abysses of the Past;
By that I lack am I to-day
Heir of Thine undawned æons vast.
The best things joy to me has brought
Have been its sigh of yearning pain;
Its dreams of bliss ungauged by thought;
Its dear despairs, which yet remain.
Have been its sigh of yearning pain;
Its dreams of bliss ungauged by thought;
Its dear despairs, which yet remain.
If Thou Thyself at once couldest give,
Then wert Thou not the God Thou art.
To explore Thy secret is to live,
Creation's inexhaustible Heart!
Then wert Thou not the God Thou art.
To explore Thy secret is to live,
Creation's inexhaustible Heart!
To some Thou givest at ease to lie,
Content in anchored happiness:
Thy breath my full sail swelling, I
Across thy broadening seas would press!
Content in anchored happiness:
Thy breath my full sail swelling, I
Across thy broadening seas would press!
Dear voyagers, though each nearing oar
Around is music to my ear,
Sweeter to hear, far on before,
Some swifter boatman call, “Good cheer!”
Around is music to my ear,
Sweeter to hear, far on before,
Some swifter boatman call, “Good cheer!”
At friendly shores, at peaceful isles,
I touch, but may not long delay;
Where Thy flushed East with mystery smiles
I steer into the unrisen day.
I touch, but may not long delay;
Where Thy flushed East with mystery smiles
I steer into the unrisen day.
For veils of hope before Thee drawn,
For mists that hint the immortal coast
Hid in Thy farthest, faintest dawn,—
My God, for these I thank Thee most.
For mists that hint the immortal coast
Hid in Thy farthest, faintest dawn,—
My God, for these I thank Thee most.
Joy, joy! to see, from every shore
Whereon my step makes pressure fond,
Thy sunrise reddening still before!
More light, more love, more life beyond!
Whereon my step makes pressure fond,
Thy sunrise reddening still before!
More light, more love, more life beyond!
| The poetical works of Lucy Larcom | |