[Poems by Shillaber in] Poets of Portsmouth Compiled by Aurin M. Payson and Albert Laighton |
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TRANSMUTATION:
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 | [Poems by Shillaber in] Poets of Portsmouth |  |
333
TRANSMUTATION:
Showing the Operation of a quick Fancy in working out spiritual Results from a real Subject.
I see him every week,
With his thin and wrinkled cheek,
And a wealth of wintry hair falling round his aged neck;
And his coat of homespun blue,
That's brushed the texture through,
Bears many awheres about it a white and seedy speck.
With his thin and wrinkled cheek,
And a wealth of wintry hair falling round his aged neck;
And his coat of homespun blue,
That's brushed the texture through,
Bears many awheres about it a white and seedy speck.
He's in the stranger's seat;
For no bending hinges greet
The old man hoary, when he comes with slow and lagging pace;
And the velvet-cushioned pews
All sympathy refuse
With the waiter at the table for the crumbs of God's free grace.
For no bending hinges greet
The old man hoary, when he comes with slow and lagging pace;
And the velvet-cushioned pews
All sympathy refuse
With the waiter at the table for the crumbs of God's free grace.
There he sits, with eager ear,
To catch the heavenly cheer,
As the minister unfolds the glories of the Word;
And a smile his face illumes,
As the apple gives its blooms,
When, in its secret depths, the call of Spring is heard.
To catch the heavenly cheer,
As the minister unfolds the glories of the Word;
And a smile his face illumes,
As the apple gives its blooms,
When, in its secret depths, the call of Spring is heard.
334
At times a tear I'll trace
Steal down his care-worn face,
As though some memory of eld were passing through his brain;
Then the smile will come once more,
As, when the storm is o'er,
The sun appears more bright through the lenses of the rain.
Steal down his care-worn face,
As though some memory of eld were passing through his brain;
Then the smile will come once more,
As, when the storm is o'er,
The sun appears more bright through the lenses of the rain.
His name I cannot guess;
But interest no less
Attracts my eager gaze to the old white-headed man;
For in his face I see
A mighty mystery
That awes me, as with earnest eye its depths I strive to scan.
But interest no less
Attracts my eager gaze to the old white-headed man;
For in his face I see
A mighty mystery
That awes me, as with earnest eye its depths I strive to scan.
Not with the pride of wealth,
Not with the thrill of health,
The human soul is strong in its world of joy and trust;
And, though drop away
The props of mortal clay,
There's a glory born within not dimmed by earthly dust.
Not with the thrill of health,
The human soul is strong in its world of joy and trust;
And, though drop away
The props of mortal clay,
There's a glory born within not dimmed by earthly dust.
I see upon his brow
A regal glory now;
And the poverty and pain are transmuted in its ray:
No longer poor and old
Is the form that I behold,
But a soul rejuvenate, and risen on a life of endless day.
A regal glory now;
And the poverty and pain are transmuted in its ray:
No longer poor and old
Is the form that I behold,
But a soul rejuvenate, and risen on a life of endless day.
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