THE GOBLET OF LIFE. How bitter are the drops of woe, 175 The prayer of Ajax was for light; Let our unceasing, earnest prayer Be, too, for light,- for strength to bear That crushes into dumb despair One half the human race. O suffering, sad humanity! ye afflicted ones, who lie Steeped to the lips in misery, Longing, and yet afraid to die, Patient, though sorely tried! I pledge you in this cup of grief, The Battle of our Life is brief, The alarm, the struggle,-the relief,— Then sleep we side by side. MAIDENHOOD. Thou whose locks outshine the sun, As the braided streamlets run! Standing, with reluctant feet, Gazing, with a timid glance, Deep and still, that gliding stream As the river of a dream. Then why pause with indecision, When bright angels in thy vision Seest thou shadows sailing by, Hearest thou voices on the shore, 177 O, thou child of many prayers! X Like the swell of some sweet tune, May glides onward into June. Childhood is the bough, where slumbered Birds and blossoms many-numbered;— Age, that bough with snows encumbered. Gather, then, each flower that grows, Bear a lily in thy hand; Gates of brass cannot withstand One touch of that magic wand. Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth, O, that dew, like balm, shall steal And that smile, like sunshine, dart Into many a sunless heart, For a smile of God thou art. |