 | The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury |  |
“DOUBT ME NOT.”
Doubt me not,” thou! though all beside might falter
When comes the test hour of their love and truth,
Though all the old familiar faces alter
Till nought remain to thee of by-gone youth,
Yet doubt not me; the loyalty Love taught
Is still unbroken by a wandering thought.
When comes the test hour of their love and truth,
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Till nought remain to thee of by-gone youth,
Yet doubt not me; the loyalty Love taught
Is still unbroken by a wandering thought.
By the wild love, which, reckless of a morrow,
Cherished its sweet but hopeless dream of thee;
By the vain yearnings of my young heart's sorrow;
By weary days, and nights of agony;
By the deep scars that in my soul remain,
To mark how close it clasped its heavy chain;
Cherished its sweet but hopeless dream of thee;
By the vain yearnings of my young heart's sorrow;
By weary days, and nights of agony;
By the deep scars that in my soul remain,
To mark how close it clasped its heavy chain;
By all the spendthrift tenderness that flung
Its richest gifts unasked before thy feet;
By the high impulse that so early strung
The minstrel harp whose voice to thee is sweet;
By the devotion of a heart whose pride
Was loving thee when every hope had died;
Its richest gifts unasked before thy feet;
By the high impulse that so early strung
The minstrel harp whose voice to thee is sweet;
By the devotion of a heart whose pride
Was loving thee when every hope had died;
By these sad memories of a blighted past,
And by the peacefulness of present days;
By the calm joys thy hand has round me cast,
As one by one each flower of youth decays;
By the deep love thy soul has caught from mine,
Through years of wedded love,—I still am thine.
And by the peacefulness of present days;
By the calm joys thy hand has round me cast,
As one by one each flower of youth decays;
By the deep love thy soul has caught from mine,
Through years of wedded love,—I still am thine.
Forever thine, in life, in death, the same:
The love that prayerful sorrow sanctifies
Was born for heaven, and, like the mounting flame,
Points ever upward to th' immortal skies;
There only shall my heart's deep truth be shown,
There only shall we know, and there be known.
The love that prayerful sorrow sanctifies
Was born for heaven, and, like the mounting flame,
Points ever upward to th' immortal skies;
There only shall my heart's deep truth be shown,
There only shall we know, and there be known.
| The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury | |