Chips, fragments and vestiges by Gail Hamilton collected and arranged by H. Augusta Dodge |
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TO THE REV. MR. B.
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 | Chips, fragments and vestiges by Gail Hamilton |  |
TO THE REV. MR. B.
WHO SENT ME A CARD-CASE MADE OF OLIVE-WOOD FROM JERUSALEM
I dream of a beautiful far-off land
Bathed in a purple glory.
Of sculptured grotto and golden fane
Embalmed in song and story.
The fragrant breath of her summer-tide
Just stirreth the tremulous vine,
And the life asleep on her hazy hills
Sparkles in blood-red wine.
Anon the notes of a distant lute,
Swept by the hand of her dark-browed daughters,
Floated to me from her lattice bowers
Over the still and moonlit waters.
Bathed in a purple glory.
Of sculptured grotto and golden fane
Embalmed in song and story.
The fragrant breath of her summer-tide
Just stirreth the tremulous vine,
And the life asleep on her hazy hills
Sparkles in blood-red wine.
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Swept by the hand of her dark-browed daughters,
Floated to me from her lattice bowers
Over the still and moonlit waters.
I dream again—and the silent years
Like a snow wreath melt away,
And the long dead Past is before me, quick
With the gloomy life of to-day.
A weary earth lies faint and parched
In the clasp of the fiery sun,—
I see in the shade of the olive trees
The form of the Holy One!
O Christ! O God! In thy lowliness
Bearing a weight of woe,
Which mortals may never never feel,
Which only a God can know.
Like a snow wreath melt away,
And the long dead Past is before me, quick
With the gloomy life of to-day.
A weary earth lies faint and parched
In the clasp of the fiery sun,—
I see in the shade of the olive trees
The form of the Holy One!
O Christ! O God! In thy lowliness
Bearing a weight of woe,
Which mortals may never never feel,
Which only a God can know.
And dreaming thus—I dream of thee
As verily it beseems,
Who wove me the magic spell whereby
I behold all beautiful dreams;
Who tinted my cold and wintry sky
With the warmth of Orient gleams—
Ah! priceless boon! Can a surer pledge
Of friendship be ever given
Than to twine the thoughts of the loved on Earth
With the Christ we love in Heaven?
As verily it beseems,
Who wove me the magic spell whereby
I behold all beautiful dreams;
Who tinted my cold and wintry sky
With the warmth of Orient gleams—
Ah! priceless boon! Can a surer pledge
Of friendship be ever given
Than to twine the thoughts of the loved on Earth
With the Christ we love in Heaven?
Hartford, Conn., Jan. 4, 1856.
| Chips, fragments and vestiges by Gail Hamilton | |