My Sonnets [by W. C. Bennett] |
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[Who truly lives?—Man, fleeting shadow, tell.] |
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 | My Sonnets |  |
[Who truly lives?—Man, fleeting shadow, tell.]
Who truly lives?—Man, fleeting shadow, tell.He lives who is a pure, clear, fount of love,—
An earthly image of his God above,—
From whom unselfish sympathy will well,
Unceasingly, for woe, and higher swell
With godlike pity for the wretched, born
To wither 'neath the world's dread, blasting, scorn,—
Who comes, a Howard, upon earth, to dwell.
He, truly, lives who, nobly, dares to tread
Upon his brutish appetites,—to hold
Converse with nature, and the deathless dead,—
To toil, through nights and days, not for the gold
That men so thirst for, but, more wise, to be
A thought and wonder to futurity.
May 23rd, 1842.
| My Sonnets | |