 | The poetical works of Lucy Larcom |  |
IN THE WORLD WITH YOU.
When the first red streak of the dawn has come,
I listen, awake, for the city's hum,
A faint little threadlet of far-off sound,
Growing ever confused, like a skein unwound
By heedless fingers, wherein I hear
The voices of myriad work-folk dear,
Who make earth the sheltering home that it is,
With their beautiful, manifold industries;
And I meet them, and call to them, one by one
Passing into the light of a day begun:
“Thank God for the work that He lets us do!
I am glad that I live in the world with you!”
I listen, awake, for the city's hum,
A faint little threadlet of far-off sound,
Growing ever confused, like a skein unwound
By heedless fingers, wherein I hear
The voices of myriad work-folk dear,
Who make earth the sheltering home that it is,
With their beautiful, manifold industries;
And I meet them, and call to them, one by one
Passing into the light of a day begun:
“Thank God for the work that He lets us do!
I am glad that I live in the world with you!”
When the Sabbath morning its holier spell
On the landscape lays, and the distant bell
Answering to bell through the peaceful air
Leaves resonant melody lingering there,
I think of a shrine where I fain would be,
Where reverent worshipers bend the knee
In the presence of One whom they love, unseen;
And I murmur, “To you with my heart I lean,
And I feel the throb of your music here,
Pulsing into the heaven that is so near,
We may know if our souls to its song ring true.
I am glad that I live in the world with you!”
On the landscape lays, and the distant bell
Answering to bell through the peaceful air
Leaves resonant melody lingering there,
I think of a shrine where I fain would be,
Where reverent worshipers bend the knee
In the presence of One whom they love, unseen;
And I murmur, “To you with my heart I lean,
And I feel the throb of your music here,
Pulsing into the heaven that is so near,
We may know if our souls to its song ring true.
I am glad that I live in the world with you!”
And to all the sweetness and all the mirth
That stir in the bosom of kindly Earth;
To the flower in the field, and the bird on the bough,
And the seed springing up in the track of the plough;
To the sweeping storm, to the mist and the rain,
And the sunshine that always returns again;
To the laugh of childhood, to friendship's call,
To the faithful around us, who help us all;
To the love and the loveliness everywhere—
A Presence I feel, and a blessing I share—
I sing, and the song is forever new,
“I am glad that I live in the world with you!”
That stir in the bosom of kindly Earth;
To the flower in the field, and the bird on the bough,
And the seed springing up in the track of the plough;
To the sweeping storm, to the mist and the rain,
And the sunshine that always returns again;
To the laugh of childhood, to friendship's call,
To the faithful around us, who help us all;
To the love and the loveliness everywhere—
A Presence I feel, and a blessing I share—
I sing, and the song is forever new,
“I am glad that I live in the world with you!”
295
The good that we work for is hard to win;
But our labor and worship are woven in
To one marvelous web with the beauty we see
Unfolding from blossom and star and tree,
That widens, and lengthens, and stretches above,
Out into the deeps of Invisible Love.
O spirits dear, who have vanished from sight,
You are only hid in a splendor of light
That is as the dazzling soul of the sun!
There are many mansions, the home is one,
And the doors are open, the light shines through!—
I am glad that I live in the world with you!
But our labor and worship are woven in
To one marvelous web with the beauty we see
Unfolding from blossom and star and tree,
That widens, and lengthens, and stretches above,
Out into the deeps of Invisible Love.
O spirits dear, who have vanished from sight,
You are only hid in a splendor of light
That is as the dazzling soul of the sun!
There are many mansions, the home is one,
And the doors are open, the light shines through!—
I am glad that I live in the world with you!
| The poetical works of Lucy Larcom | |