Could those few pleasant days again appear, Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here? I would not trust my heart, the dear delight Seems so to be desired, perhaps I might. But no, Thou, as a gallant bark from albion's coast (The storms all weathered and the ocean crossed) Shoots into port at some well-havened isle, Where spices breathe and brighter seasons smile; There sits quiescent on the floods, that show Her beauteous form reflected clear below, While airs impregnated with incense play Around her, fanning light her streamers gay, So thou, with sails how swift! hast reached the shore, Where tempests never beat, nor billows roar ; And thy loved consort, on the dangerous tide Of life, long since has anchored by thy side. But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest, Always from port withheld, always distressed, Me howling blasts drive devious, tempesttossed, Sails ripped, seams opening wide, and compass lost; And day by day some current's thwarting force Sets me more distant from a prosperous course. Yet O, the thought that thou art safe, and he! That thought is joy, arrive what may to me. My boast is not that I deduce my birth From loins enthroned, and rulers of the earth; But higher far my proud pretensions rise,The son of parents passed into the skies. And now farewell! - Time, unrevoked, has run His wonted course, yet what I wished is done. By contemplation's help, not sought in vain, I seem to have lived my childhood o'er again, To have renewed the joys that once were mine Without the sin of violating thine ; And while the wings of Fancy still are free, And I can view this mimic show of thee, Time has but half succeeded in his theft, Thyself removed, thy power to soothe me left. William Cowper MY MOTHER'S BIBLE THIS book is all that's left me now, Here is our family tree; My mother's hands this Bible clasped, She, dying, gave it me. Ah! well do I remember those Whose names these records bear; Who round the hearthstone used to close, After the evening prayer, And speak of what these pages said In tones my heart would thrill! Though they are with the silent dead, Here are they living still! My father read this holy book How calm was my poor mother's look, Again that little group is met Thou truest friend man ever knew, When all were false, I found thee true, The mines of earth no treasures give It taught me how to die! George Pope Morris TWO SONS I HAVE two sons, wife The one is bearded, sunburnt, grim, and fights across the sea, The other is a little child who sits upon your knee. One is fierce and cold, wife, As the wayward deep; Him no arms could hold, wife, Him no breast could keep. He has tried our hearts for many a year, broken them; for he Is still the sinless little one that sits not upon your knee. One may fall in fight, wife, Pray with all your might, wife, Pray for the dark, rough soldier, who fights across the sea, Because you love the little shade who smiles upon your knee. One across the foam, wife, But this one at home, wife, Cannot die at all. They both are only one; and how thankful should we be, We cannot lose the darling son who sits upon your knee! Robert Buchanan MOTHER TO SON BEFORE I knew the love of man The lovely dream of you began. I nursed the kitten on my knee, And nursed you where no eye could see. |