 | From Sunset Ridge |  |
49
LITTLE ONE
My dearest boy, my sweetest!
For paradise the meetest;
The child that never grieves me,
The love that never leaves me;
The lamb by Jésu tended;
The shadow, star befriended;
In winter's woe and straining,
The blossom still remaining.
For paradise the meetest;
The child that never grieves me,
The love that never leaves me;
The lamb by Jésu tended;
The shadow, star befriended;
In winter's woe and straining,
The blossom still remaining.
Days must not find me sitting
Where shadows dim are flitting
Across the grassy measure
That hides my buried treasure,
Nor bent with tears and sighing
More prone than thy down-lying:
I have a freight to carry,
A goal,—I must not tarry.
Where shadows dim are flitting
Across the grassy measure
That hides my buried treasure,
Nor bent with tears and sighing
More prone than thy down-lying:
I have a freight to carry,
A goal,—I must not tarry.
If men would garlands give me,
If steadfast hearts receive me,
Their homage I 'd surrender
For one embrace most tender;
One kiss, with sorrow in it,
To hold thee but one minute,
One word, our tie recalling,
Beyond the gulf appalling.
If steadfast hearts receive me,
Their homage I 'd surrender
For one embrace most tender;
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To hold thee but one minute,
One word, our tie recalling,
Beyond the gulf appalling.
Since God's device doth take thee,
My fretting should forsake thee;
For many a mother borrows
Her comfort from the sorrows
Her vanished darling misses,
Transferred to heavenly blisses.
But I must ever miss thee,
Must ever call and kiss thee,
With thy sweet phantom near me,
And only God to hear me.
My fretting should forsake thee;
For many a mother borrows
Her comfort from the sorrows
Her vanished darling misses,
Transferred to heavenly blisses.
But I must ever miss thee,
Must ever call and kiss thee,
With thy sweet phantom near me,
And only God to hear me.
The pomp with which I mourn thee,
I who have proudly borne thee,
Is not of weary sables,
Nor unsubstantial fables;
While thou, in white apparel,
And crowned, above my laurel,
Passest from my discerning
To more transcendent learning.
I who have proudly borne thee,
Is not of weary sables,
Nor unsubstantial fables;
While thou, in white apparel,
And crowned, above my laurel,
Passest from my discerning
To more transcendent learning.
When thou wert taken from me,
Did better art become me,
And painful satisfaction
Wrung from some noblest action.
I mourn in simpler praying,
More work and less delaying,
In hope enforced that mellows
The crudeness of thy fellows,
Who, past thy lovely season,
Attempt the wars of Reason;
I mourn thee with endeavor
That loves and grieves forever.
Did better art become me,
And painful satisfaction
Wrung from some noblest action.
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More work and less delaying,
In hope enforced that mellows
The crudeness of thy fellows,
Who, past thy lovely season,
Attempt the wars of Reason;
I mourn thee with endeavor
That loves and grieves forever.
| From Sunset Ridge | |