 | Poems |  |
THE WISH.
My boy, my boy, what would I have
Thy future lot should be,
Were that sweet fay, so kind of old,
To leave the choice with me?
Were she to say, “My fairy power,
To grant all blessings, use;
Give what thou wilt to this young life,
And what thou wilt, refuse.”
Thy future lot should be,
Were that sweet fay, so kind of old,
To leave the choice with me?
Were she to say, “My fairy power,
To grant all blessings, use;
Give what thou wilt to this young life,
And what thou wilt, refuse.”
Her diamond wand, my little one,
Above thee would I raise,
“Be health,” I'd say, “be beauty thine,
My boy, through all thy days.
The perfect powers that give thee strength
Thy work on earth to do,
The perfect form, that shows the soul's
Own beauty shining through.
Above thee would I raise,
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My boy, through all thy days.
The perfect powers that give thee strength
Thy work on earth to do,
The perfect form, that shows the soul's
Own beauty shining through.
“Be plenty thine; that, wealthy, thou
Mayst independent live;
That, rich, to thee it may be given
Abundantly to give;
That heaven, through means of that thou hast,
To thee may be made sure;
In life—in death—that thou mayst have
The blessings of the poor.
Mayst independent live;
That, rich, to thee it may be given
Abundantly to give;
That heaven, through means of that thou hast,
To thee may be made sure;
In life—in death—that thou mayst have
The blessings of the poor.
“Be thine a warm and open heart,
Be thine unnumbered friends;
A life, held precious while it lasts,
And wept for when it ends.
And, heaven on earth, be thine a home
Where children round thee grow,
Where one, with all thy mother's love,
Makes blest thy days below.
Be thine unnumbered friends;
A life, held precious while it lasts,
And wept for when it ends.
And, heaven on earth, be thine a home
Where children round thee grow,
Where one, with all thy mother's love,
Makes blest thy days below.
“Harold, be thine that better life
That higher still aspires,
Supreme in sovereign sway above
The senses' low desires;
And thine the fame that, told of, men
Of holy deeds shall hear,
A glory, unto good men's thoughts
And lowly memories dear.
That higher still aspires,
Supreme in sovereign sway above
The senses' low desires;
And thine the fame that, told of, men
Of holy deeds shall hear,
A glory, unto good men's thoughts
And lowly memories dear.
“Walk thou a poet among men,
A prophet sent of God,
That hallowed grow the common ways
Of earth which thou hast trod;
That truth in thy eternal words
Sit throned in might sublime,
And love and mercy, from thy tongue,
For ever preach to Time.
A prophet sent of God,
That hallowed grow the common ways
Of earth which thou hast trod;
That truth in thy eternal words
Sit throned in might sublime,
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For ever preach to Time.
“All human wishes most desire,
All last they would resign,
All fondest love can long to give,
My little one, be thine.
The purest good that man can know,
To thee, my boy, be given;
And be thy every act on earth
A deed to win thee heaven!”
All last they would resign,
All fondest love can long to give,
My little one, be thine.
The purest good that man can know,
To thee, my boy, be given;
And be thy every act on earth
A deed to win thee heaven!”
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