 | The Poems of A. C. Benson |  |
128
TO MY FATHER
O loved and honoured, truest, best
Of friends and fathers, mine though death
Divide us, mine through toil and rest,
Since first I drew uncertain breath,
Of friends and fathers, mine though death
Divide us, mine through toil and rest,
Since first I drew uncertain breath,
There, where the desert bloomed with towers,
Subdued, replenished, starred with praise,
With memories of diviner hours,
When thou, through glad laborious days,
Subdued, replenished, starred with praise,
With memories of diviner hours,
When thou, through glad laborious days,
Didst nurse and kindle generous fires,
That, as the old earth forward runs,
May fit the sons of hero sires
To be the sires of hero sons.
That, as the old earth forward runs,
May fit the sons of hero sires
To be the sires of hero sons.
From that grey choir, whose purer lines
Are fair above the humming town,
A western land of ports and mines,
The watered vale, the bleaker down,
Are fair above the humming town,
A western land of ports and mines,
The watered vale, the bleaker down,
Desired thee, welcomed as her own,
Till fateful voices, surely heard,
Constrained thee to an ancient throne,
A larger, more majestic word;
Till fateful voices, surely heard,
Constrained thee to an ancient throne,
A larger, more majestic word;
129
What though the years grow loud and late,
Though spoiling hands seem overbold,
Though thunders of a troubled state
About Augustine's chair are rolled,
Though spoiling hands seem overbold,
Though thunders of a troubled state
About Augustine's chair are rolled,
True sire, true son of Aaron's line,
Still, as the sacred burden grew,
'Mid pomp and policy divine,
A fonder, gentler father too.
Still, as the sacred burden grew,
'Mid pomp and policy divine,
A fonder, gentler father too.
I need your patient trust, I need
Your glad forgiving welcome; hear
Your son who loves his childhood's creed
Because you loved it, made it dear.
Your glad forgiving welcome; hear
Your son who loves his childhood's creed
Because you loved it, made it dear.
For we have fared by hills and waves,
And paced by many a hallowed site,
And bent together over graves
That first estrange, and then unite:
And paced by many a hallowed site,
And bent together over graves
That first estrange, and then unite:
So shall the Lord of Life, who sets
On faithful hearts His seal of fire,
Make music of our weak regrets,
And crown our impotent desire.
On faithful hearts His seal of fire,
Make music of our weak regrets,
And crown our impotent desire.
| The Poems of A. C. Benson | |