 | The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury |  |
THE WIFE'S OFFERING ON THE NEW YEAR.
“Aye, years may pass, but yet Time's rapid flight
Would be unheeded, were it not he flings
A cloud o'er all youth's hopes and fancies bright;
Alas! he bears upon his shadowy wings
Darkness, distrust, and sorrow; and the mind
Pines 'mid the gloom to which it is consigned.”
Would be unheeded, were it not he flings
A cloud o'er all youth's hopes and fancies bright;
Alas! he bears upon his shadowy wings
Darkness, distrust, and sorrow; and the mind
Pines 'mid the gloom to which it is consigned.”
Such was my song when my young heart was like an untried lute,
Full of earth's sweetest melodies, but all untouched and mute;
And, like the lute when swept at eve by zephyr's weary wings,
Sometimes a broken melody would murmur from its strings.
Full of earth's sweetest melodies, but all untouched and mute;
And, like the lute when swept at eve by zephyr's weary wings,
Sometimes a broken melody would murmur from its strings.
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I knew my heart had richer tones; I felt it had the power
To pour a deep and thrilling note in love's impassioned hour;
I longed, yet feared, to wake such strains, for ah! full well I knew
The hand that called its music forth might rend its frail chords too.
To pour a deep and thrilling note in love's impassioned hour;
I longed, yet feared, to wake such strains, for ah! full well I knew
The hand that called its music forth might rend its frail chords too.
Heaven's blessings on thee, dear one; thou first touched my silent heart,
And bade it strains of hope and joy, as well as love impart;
Like Memnon's harp, it could not wake beneath a meaner light,
Its perfect tones were only poured to greet the sunbeam bright.
And bade it strains of hope and joy, as well as love impart;
Like Memnon's harp, it could not wake beneath a meaner light,
Its perfect tones were only poured to greet the sunbeam bright.
Years have passed by since first I gave my youthful heart to thee,
Yet still it breathes its early song in love's sweet melody;
But deeper is its music now—the mother and the wife
Has learned with better skill to frame the harmonies of life.
Yet still it breathes its early song in love's sweet melody;
But deeper is its music now—the mother and the wife
Has learned with better skill to frame the harmonies of life.
My early joys! O what were they to those that thrill me now,
When thus with calm, deep tenderness I gaze upon thy brow,
Or listen to the lisping tones that fill our home with glee,
And in our children's sunny looks still find a trace of thee?
When thus with calm, deep tenderness I gaze upon thy brow,
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And in our children's sunny looks still find a trace of thee?
Thrice have we watched together, dear, the dying year's decay;
Thrice have our eyes together met the New Year's opening day;
Yet every hour that glided on toward the shadowy past,
But found me at thy side, beloved, still happier than the last.
Thrice have our eyes together met the New Year's opening day;
Yet every hour that glided on toward the shadowy past,
But found me at thy side, beloved, still happier than the last.
Heaven's blessings on thee, dear one; time may sweep my joys away;
The bliss that fills my spirit now may know no second day;
Yet will I kneel in thankfulness, resigned to Heaven's high will,
And 'mid the wreck of hope rejoice, so thou art left me still.
The bliss that fills my spirit now may know no second day;
Yet will I kneel in thankfulness, resigned to Heaven's high will,
And 'mid the wreck of hope rejoice, so thou art left me still.
| The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury | |