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I cannot tell how it might be
Ofttimes the flowers have come and gone,
Have slowly learned from day to day
Fond, faithful love has blest my way,
How would I spring with bated breath,
I dare not dream the blissful dream.
She still must slumber-God knows best!
THY HANDS WILL DRAW ME IN. 195
But this I know, that those who say
Our best beloved word find no place, Have never hungered every day
Through years and years for one dear face!
THY HANDS WILL DRAW ME IN.
Once in the twilight of a wintry day,
And saw not how a little space before,
A woman watched his coming, where the light Poured a glad welcome through a window bright, Set thick with flowers that showed no fairer bloom
Than her sweet face, turned outward to the gloom.
Yet when his foot, with quick impatient stride, But touched the step, the door swung open wide; Soft hands reached swiftly out, with eager hold, And drew the dear one in from storm and cold.
O love! whose eyes, from some celestial height,
Keeping within thy radiant, love-lit home,
There in the fane a beauteous creature stands,
And fawn-like eyes still tremble as they glow.
SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY.
She walks in beauty, like the night,
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
Or softly lightens o'er her face,
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent.
I think not on my father,
And these great tears grace his remembrance
Than those I shed for him. What was he like?
In our heart's table; heart, too capable
Remember thee? Yes, while there's life in this
It shall never forget thee, all lorn as thou art; More dear in thy sorrow, thy gloom and thy showers,
Than the rest of the world in their sunniest hours.
Wert thou all that I wish thee-great, glorious and free,
First flower of the earth, and first gem of the sea,-
I might hail thee with prouder, with happier brow;
But oh, could I love thee more deeply than now?
No; thy chains as they rankle, thy blood as it runs,
But make thee more painfully dear to thy sons, Whose hearts, like the young of the desert-bird's nest
Drink love in each life-drop that flows from thy breast.