« ZurückWeiter »
I have striven to fulfil it,
As she knows—these many years. Sometimes hopeless, faint, and weary Yet a blessing shall remain With the task, and Ruth will prize it For my many hours of pain.
What must I leave you, my Alice?
Nothing, Love, to do or bear, Nothing that can dim your blue eyes
With the slightest cloud of care.
With the tender faith of old;
Should your life grow dark or cold.
Though you find old scars of pain, They were only wounds, my darling,
There is not, I trust, one stain.
Are my gifts indeed so worthless
Well, I know not: years may bless them
Am I poor? ah no, most wealthy, Not in these poor gifts you take,
But in the true hearts that tell me You will keep them for my sake. KING AND SLAVE.
j F in my soul, dear,
An omen should dwell, Bidding me pause, ere I love thee too well; If the whole circle,
Of noble and wise, With stern forebodings, Between us should rise.
I will tell them, dear,
That Love reigns—a King, Where storms cannot reach him,
And words cannot sting;
His faith to recall;
He gives—and gives all!
I will tell thee, dear,
That Love is—a Slave, Who dreads thought of freedom,
As life dreads the grave; And if doubt or peril
Of change there may be, Such fear would but drive him
Still nearer to thee!
"Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domini.'
lH.0 is the Angel that cometh? Life! Let us not question what he brings, Peace or Strife, Under the shade of his mighty wings, One by one, Are his secrets told; One by one, Lit by the rays of each morning sun, Shall a new flower its petals unfold, With the mystery hid in its heart of gold. We will arise and go forth to greet him,
Singly, gladly, with one accord ;— "Blessed is he that cometh In the name of the Lord!"