Poems

Front matter

POEMS

by

GRACE GREENWOOD.

Proem

My dreams, my dreams,—would they might come To all like voices from their home! Like cool, bland breezes at mid-day, Wafting sweet breathings on their way, That tell us where the violet springs,— Like birds with sunshine on their wings, Like the glad laugh of morning rills, Like the first day-beams o'er the hills, Like the first stars when twilight closes, Like the first blush of summer roses,— Like all things pure, and bright, and gay, That lure awhile the soul away From care, and grief, and feverish strife, And make the heart in love with life!

Some lays there are seem only sent To add to passion's blandishment, Or wing the creeping hours Of souls to lifeless ease resigned, In dreamy languidness reclined On pleasure's couch of flowers. And some are like exotics rare, Found blooming in the still, soft air Of pride and luxury only; And some like priceless, burning gems, Set in imperial diadems,

In very brightness lonely; And some in stately sluggishness, Forsaken barks, float rudderless Adown time's silent river; And some are meteors on high. One moment flashing o'er the sky, Then lost in night for ever!

My lays, my lays,—would they might find An echo in my country's heart, Be in its home-affections shrined, Form of its cherished things a part! Be like wild flowers and common air, Blooming for all, breathed everywhere,— Or like the glad song of the bird, Gushing for all, felt more than heard! Earnest, untiring, might they be Like barks before a breeze at sea, Whose dashing prows point home,— Like good knights bound for Palestine, Like artists, warmed by fire divine, O'er icy Alp and Apennine, Holding their way to Rome,— Like arrows flashing through the fight, Like eagles on their sunward flight,—

Like to all things in which we see An errand and a destiny!

And would to Heaven that Freedom's voice, Wild, bold, defying, strong, Might sometimes, like a martial strain, Peal through my fearless song! The soft-toned lays of sycophants May mine yet ring above, Clear as a clarion, and yet Their very soul be love!

O, not that Love who deems her sphere Is not where falls the mortal tear, Not by the mortal's hearth, As ministering angel here, Far from her place of birth; With earnest, heavenward-gazing eye, And spread wing fluttering for the sky, All yearning to depart she seems, And scarce permits, in her high dreams, Her feet to touch the earth. Away with such a love! Be mine A love more glorious, more divine, That boweth to the Infinite,

When his dimmed image meets the sight, As 't were all glory and all light! That loves the wide world as it lies, With broken soil and clouded skies, With changing scenes and varied lots, And few flowers springing in the spots Where angel feet have trod! Let every theme with this be fraught, Let every lay, let every thought, Flash out this life of God.

Ariadne

ARIADNE.

The demigod Theseus having won the love of Ariadne, daughter of the king of Crete, deserted her on the isle of Naxoa. In Miss Bremer's H Family, the blind girl is described as singing "Ariadne a Naxos," in which Ariadne is represented as following Theseus, climbing a high rock to watch his departing vessel, and calling upon him in her despairing anguish.

Daughter of Crete, how one brief hour, E'en in thy young love's early morn, Sends storm and darkness o'er thy bower, O doomed, O desolate, O lorn! The breast which pillowed thy fair head Rejects its burden, and the eye Which looked its love so earnestly Its last cold glance hath on thee shed; The arms which were thy living zone, Around thee closely, warmly thrown, Shall others clasp, deserted one!

Yet, Ariadne, worthy thou Of the dark fate which meets thee now,

For thou art grovelling in thy woe; Arouse thee! joy to bid him, go! For god above, or man below, Whose love's warm and impetuous tide Cold interest or selfish pride Can chill, or stay, or turn aside, All too poor and slight a thing One, shade o'er woman's brow to fling Of grief, regret, or fear,— To cloud one morning's golden light,— Disturb the sweet dreams of one night,— To cause the soft flash of her eye To droop one moment mournfully, Or tremble with one tear!

'T is thou shouldst triumph; thou art free From chains which bound thee for a while; This, this the farewell meet for thee, Proud princess on that lonely isle:—

"Go,—to thine Athens bear thy faithless name; Go, base betrayer of a holy trust! O, I could bow me in my utter shame, And lay my crimson forehead in the dust, If I had ever loved thee as thou art, Folding mean falsehood to my high, true heart!

"But thus I loved thee not; before me bowed A being glorious in majestic pride, And breathed his love, and passionately vowed To worship only me, his peerless bride; And this was thou, but crowned, enrobed, entwined, With treasures borrowed from my own rich mind!

"I knew thee not a creature of my dreams, And my rapt soul went floating into thine; My love around thee poured such halo-beams, Hadst thou been true, had made thee all divine. And I, too, seemed immortal in my bliss, When my glad lip thrilled, to thy burning kiss!

"Shrunken and shrivelled into Theseus now Thou stand'st: behold, the gods have blown away The airy crown that glittered on thy brow,— The gorgeous robes which wrapped thee for a day; Around thee scarce one fluttering fragment clings,— A poor, lean beggar in all glorious things!

"Nor will I deign to cast on thee my hate;— It were a ray to tinge with splendor still The dull, dim twilight of thy after-fate. Thou shalt pass from me like a dream of ill,—

Thy name be but a thing that, crouching, stole, Like a poor thief, all noiseless from my soul!

"Though thou hast dared to steal the sacred flame From out that soul's high heaven, she sets thee free, Or only chains thee with thy sounding shame; Her memory is no Caucasus for thee, And e'en her hovering hate would o'er thee fling Too much of glory from its shadowy wing!

"Thou think'st to leave my life a lonely night. Ha! it is night all glorious with its stars! Hopes yet unclouded beaming forth their light, And free thoughts rolling in their silver cars! And queenly pride, serene, and cold, and high; Moves the Diana of its calm, clear sky!

"If poor and humbled thou believest me, Mole of a demigod, how blind art thou! For I am rich in scorn to pour on thee, And gods shall bend from high Olympus' brow To gaze in wonder on my lofty pride, Naxos be hallowed, I be deified!"

On the tall cliff where, cold and pale, Thou watchest his receding sail,

Where thou, the daughter of a king, Wail'st like a wind-harp's breaking string, Bend'st like a weak and wilted flower Before a summer evening's shower,— There shouldst thou rear thy royal form, Like a young oak amid the storm, Uncrushed, unbowed, unriven! Let thy last glance burn through the air, And fall far down upon him there, Like lightning-stroke from heaven! There shouldst thou mark o'er billowy crest His white sail flutter and depart, No wild fears surging at thy breast, No vain hopes quivering round thy heart; And this brief, burning prayer alone Leap from thy lips to Jove's high throne:— "Just Jove! thy wrathful vengeance stay, And speed the traitor on his way! Make vain the Siren's silver song, Let Nereids smile the wave along,— O'er the wild waters send his bark Like a swift arrow to its mark! Let whirlwinds gather at his back, And drive him on his dastard track! Let thy red bolts behind him burn, And blast him should he dare to turn!"

Pygmalion

Nor grew his dark eye luminous with joy. Heart-crushed with grief, worn with intense desires, And wasting with a mad, consuming flame, He wildly gazed, his cold cheek rivalling The whiteness of the marble he had wrought. The robe's loose folds which lay upon his breast Tumultuous rose and fell, like ocean waves Upheaved by storms beneath; and on his brow, In beaded drops, the dew of anguish lay. And thus he flung himself upon the earth, And poured in prayer his wild and burning words:—

"Great Jove, to thy high throne a mortal's prayer In all the might of anguish struggles up! Thou hast beheld his work, as day by day, It put on form and beauty, till it stopd The wonder of the glorious realm of art. The sculptor wrought not blindly. Oft there came Blest visions to his soul of forms divine;— Of white-armed Juno, in that hour of love, When, fondling close the cuckoo, tempest-chilled, She all unconscious in that form did press The mighty sire of the eternal gods To her soft bosom;—Aphrodite fair, As first she trod the glad, enamoured earth,

With small, white feet, spray-dripping from the sea;— Of crested Dian, when her nightly kiss Pressed down the eyelids of Endymion,— Her silvery presence making all the air Of dewy Latmos tremulous with love.

"And now (deem not thy suppliant impious. Our being's source, thou Father of all life), A wild, o'ermastering passion fires my soul,— I madly love the work my hand hath wrought. Intoxicate I gaze through all the day, And mocking visions haunt my couch at night; My heart is faint and sick with longings vain, A burning thirst is parching up my life.

"I call upon her, and she answers not! The fond love-names I breathe into her ear Are met with maddening silence! When I clasp Those slender fingers in my fevered hand, Their coldness chills me like the touch of death! And while my heart's wild beatings shake my frame, And pain my breast with love's sweet agony, No faintest throb that shining bosom stirs.

"O, I would have an eye to gaze in mine! An ear to listen for my coming step,— A voice of love, with tones like joy's own bells, To ring their silver changes on mine ear! A yielding hand to thrill within mine own, And lips of melting sweetness, full and warm! Would change this deathless stone to mortal flesh, And barter immortality for love!

"If voice of earth, in wildest prayer, may reach To godhood, throned amid the purple clouds, To animate this cold and pulseless stone Grant thou one breath of that immortal air Which feedeth human life from age to age, And floateth round Olympus!—Hear, O Jove!

"And so this form may shrine a soul of light, Whose starry radiance shall unseal these eyes, Send down the sky's blue deeps, O sire divine, One faintest gleam of that benignant smile Which glows upon the faces of the gods, And lights all heaven!—Hear, mighty Jove!"

He stayed his prayer, and on his statue gazed. Behold, a gentle heaving stirred its breast!

O'er all the form a flush of rose-light passed, Along the limbs the azure arteries throbbed, A golden lustre settled on the head, And gleamed amid the mazes of the hair; The rounded cheek grew vivid with a blush, Ambrosial breathings cleft the curvèd lips, And softly through the arched nostril stole; Slow rose the silken-fringèd lids, and eyes Like violets wet with dew drank in the light!

Moveless she stood, until her wandering glance Upon the rapt face of the sculptor fell; Bewildered and abashed, it sank beneath The burning gaze of his adoring eyes. And then there ran through all her trembling frame A strange, sweet thrill of blissful consciousness, Life's wildest joy, in one delicious tide, Poured through the channels of her new-born heart, And love's first sigh rose quivering from her breast.

She turned, and, smiling, bent her toward the youth, And blushed love's dawn upon him as he knelt. He rose, sprang forward with a passionate cry, And joyously outstretched his waiting arms;—

And lo! the form he sculptured from the stone, Instinct with life, and radiant with soul, A breathing shape of beauty, soft and warm, Of mortal womanhood, all smiles and tears, In love's sweet trance upon his bosom lay.

The horseback ride

Now we 're off,—like the winds to the plains whence they came, And the rapture of motion is thrilling my frame! On, on speeds my courser, scarce printing the sod, Scarce crushing a daisy to mark where he trod! On, on like a deer, when the hound's early hay Awakes the wild echoes, away, and away! Still faster, still farther, he leaps at my cheer, Till the rush of the startled air whirs in my ear! Now 'long a clear rivulet lieth his track,— See his glancing hoofs tossing the white pebbles back! Now a glen, dark as midnight,—what matter?—we 'll down, Though shadows are round us, and rocks o'er us frown; The thick branches shake, as we 're hurrying through, And deck us with spangles of silvery dew!

What a wild thought of triumph, that this girlish hand Such a steed in the might of his strength may command! What a glorious creature! Ah! glance at him now, As I check him awhile on this green hillock's brow; How he tosses his mane, with a shrill, joyous neigh, And paws the firm earth in his proud, stately play! Hurrah! off again, dashing on as in ire, Till the long, flinty pathway is flashing with fire!

Ho! a ditch!—Shall we pause? No; the bold leap we dare, Like a swift-winged arrow we rush through the air! O, not all the pleasures that poets may praise, Not the wildering waltz in the ball-room's blaze, Nor the chivalrous joust, nor the daring race, Nor the swift regatta, nor merry chase, Nor the sail, high heaving waters o'er, Nor the rural dance on the moonlight shore, Can the wild and thrilling joy exceed Of a fearless leap on a fiery steed!

Fanny forester

Though lilies mind us of the young, Pale bending to the tomb, She shall tread among the violets Before the lilies bloom!

Yes, when the summer roses blush, Her cheek shall catch their glow; And when the summer birds return, Her tones, no longer low, Shall, like their strains, on raptured ears In waves of music flow.

Our souls' arms are around her thrown! She must not pass away Now, when, too humble for the proud, Too lonely for the gay, The altar of sweet Poesy Is falling to decay!

O, there may we behold her yet In her young beauty bow! There may we hear her glad lip breathe Her consecration vow, Earth's warm life lighting up her eye,— Its glory on her brow!

There long a priestess may she serve, With vestments pure and fair, There offer up her wingèd dreams, Young doves from heaven's own air, And pour the rich wine of her soul As a libation there!

The restored

And each low wind that murmurs by, Or lingers on her brown Seems a whisper from the realm of peace, The kiss of angels now; And flowers are far more blessed things,— The lowliest that bloom Bear tracings of the loving hand That raised her from the tomb.

Though she seemeth yet, with her noiseless step, Some fair and fleeting shade, And her voice hath the sound of a silver brook, Low rippling down the glade;— Though faint the flush that sometimes comes Her glowing dreams to speak, As the shadow of a rose-leaf cast On a sculptured Psyche's cheek;—

Life, life, is thrilling through her veins! And her heart, these warm spring hours, Waked to new raptures and new loves, Seems beating under flowers, Like a pulse in the brow of a young May Queen, Just crowned in her morning bowers.

That from her door to the place of graves The path is yet untrod,— That we have not pressed on her warm young breast The icy burial sod,— That she sleepeth, and waketh, and is not dead, We bless thee, O our God!

Dreams

Fast round me closed the shades of sleep; Then burst upon my sight Visions of glory and of love, The stars of slumber's night! Dreams, wondrous dreams, that far around Did such rich radiance fling, As the sudden first unfurling Of a young angel's wing. Then sometimes blessed beings came, Parting the midnight skies, And bore me to their shining homes, The bowers of Paradise; I felt my worn, world-wearied soul Bathed in divine repose, My earth-chilled heart, in the airs of heaven, Unfolding as a rose.

Nor were my dreams celestial all, For oft along my way Clustered the scenes and joys of home, The loves of every day; Soft after angel-music still The voices round my hearth,— Sweet after Paradisean flowers The violets of earth.

But now I dread the night,—it holds Within its weary bounds Strife, griefs and fears, red battle-fields, And spectre-haunted grounds!

One night there sounded through my dreams A trumpet's stirring peal, And then methought I went forth armed, And clad in glittering steel, And sprang upon a battle steed, And led a warrior band, And we swept, a flood of fire and death, Victorious through the land! O, what wild rapture 't was to mark My serried ranks advance, And see amid the foe go down Banner and plume and lance! The living trampled o'er the dead,— The fallen, line on line, Were crushed like grapes at vintage-time, And blood was poured like wine! My sword was dripping to its hilt, And this small, girlish hand, Planted the banner, lit the torch, And waved the stern command.

How swelled and burned within my heart Fierce hate and fiery pride,— My very soul rode like a bark On the battle's stormy tide!

My pitying and all woman's soul! O, no, it was not mine! Perchance mine slumbered, or had left Awhile its earthly shrine; So the spirit of a Joan d'Arc Stole in my sleeping frame, And wrote her history on my heart, In words of blood and flame.

My dead are with me in my dreams, Rise from their still, lone home,— But are they as I loved them here? O Heaven, 't is thus they come! Silent and cold,—the pulseless form In burial garments dressed, The pale hands holding burial flowers, Close folded on the breast!

My living,—they in whose tried hearts My wild, impassioned love

Foldeth its wings contentedly, And nestles as a dove,— They come, they hold me in their arms; My heart, with joy oppressed, Seems panting 'neath its blessed weight, And swooning in my breast; My eyes look up through tears of bliss, Like flowers through dews of even, There 's a painful fulness in my lips, Till the kiss of love is given;— When, sudden, their fresh glowing lips Are colorless and cold, And an icy, shrouded corse is all My shuddering arms enfold!

Have I my guardian angels grieved, That they have taken flight? Or frown'st thou on me, O my God, In the visions of the night? Yet with a child's fond faith I rest Still on thy fatherhood,— Speak peace unto my troubled dreams, Thou merciful and good! And, O, if cares and griefs must come, And throng my humble way,

Then let me, strengthened and refreshed, Strive with them in the day, This glorious world which thou hast made Spread out in bloom before me, Thy blessed sunshine on my path, Thy radiant skies hung o'er me. But when, like ghosts of the sun's lost rays, Come down the moonbeams pale, And the dark earth lies like an Eastern bride Beneath her silvery veil, Then let the night, with its silence deep, Its dews and its starry gleams, Be peace, and rest, and love!—God, Smile on me in my dreams!

The wife's appeal

The birds caught up our tones of love, In songs not half so sweet, And earth's green carpet, violet-flowered, It scarcely felt our feet!

Ah, apropos of carpets, Charles, I looked at some to-day, Which you will purchase,—won't you, dear, Before our next soiree?

And then remember you how lost In love's delicious dream, We long stood silently beside A gently gliding stream?

'T was Nature's mirror,—when your gaze No longer I could bear, I modestly cast down my eyes, Yet but to meet it there!

And apropos of mirrors, love, The dear gift of your mother Is quite old-fashioned,—and to-day I ordered home another.

Ah, well do I remember, Charles, When first your arm stole round me,— You little dreamed how long your soul In golden chains had bound me!

And apropos of chains, my own, At Allen's shop last week I saw the sweetest love, so rich, So tasteful and unique!

The workmanship is most superb, The gold most fine and pure,— I quite long, Charles, to see that chain Suspend your miniature!

I 've heard sad news while you were out,— My nerves are much affected,— You know the navy officer I once for you rejected;

Driven to despair by your success, Made desperate by my scorn, He went to sea,—and has been lost In passing round Cape Horn!

Ah, apropos of capes, my love, I saw one in Broadway, Of lace as fine as though 't were wove Of moonlight, by a fay!

You 'll purchase the exquisite thing? 'T will suit your taste completely; Above the heart that loves you, Charles, 'T will rise and fall so sweetly!

The story of a life

Then Pleasure held her goblet high, And called on me to drain The glowing wine quaffed by the gods, Till madness fired my brain;

She mocked and tortured by delay,— Then, at my frenzied call, She offered to my burning lip The cup, and it was gall.

I won a friend by generous deeds,— One with an open brow; He bound his very life to mine With many a holy vow.

Then fell the bolt,—I was betrayed! By cool, insidious art,— By words that, like barbed arrows, still Are quivering in my heart.

At last unto my bosom came, In gentlest guise, young Love; It crept into its resting-place, A sweet and quiet dove.

I warmed it in my inmost heart, Closed from the world's chill air;— O, 't was a rapture caught from heaven To feel it nestling there!

But ah! one morn, from visions blest, I wakened with a moan; There was a vulture at my breast, And that young dove had flown!

Then Fame held forth her laurel crown, From her proud height afar; I longed for it, as does a child At evening for a, star.

I toiled, I suffered,—humble joys I careless flung aside, Saw peace take wing, and in the dust Bow down my manly pride.

At last, at last, it bound my brow, That green immortal wreath! Exulting, glorying, I stood, Defying time and death!

Yet soon I would have given worlds To fling it off again, For thorns were hid among the leaves, That pierced me to the brain!

Now is my life a storm-wrecked bark, Dashed by time's surges high Upon a bare, cold island rock, Beneath a northern sky.

There, in that realm where hearts congeal, The spirit's frozen zone, A joyless, cheerless, loveless age, I stand alone,—alone.

Reconciliation

Let naught disturb our harmony of soul, Let nothing come between thy heart and mine, But let the circling years, as on they roll, Still bring us more of sympathy divine.

We are but one remove from heavenly birth,— Let heavenly truth be on each lip and brow; Let us be free,—let not the dust of earth Weigh down the white wings of our spirits now.

So when we tread Eternity's dim shore Our souls may know each other, and rejoice That no disguise in earthly life they wore, And spirit voice may answer spirit voice!

Putnam

When Freedom first her standard reared, Her sword first girded on,— When her rally first from Concord rang, And pealed from Lexington,— Thou heard'st with triumph in thine eye, And proud, uplifted brow, And, like the patriot Roman, went To glory from the plough!

Thy voice rang like a clarion out On Bunker's trampled height; Thy sword gleamed like a meteor through The thick cloud of the fight; Where cannon boomed, where bayonets clashed, There was thy fiery way, And thy blows came down, a storm of death, On the foe that fearful day.

Thy daring ride adown the rocks,— Have chivalry's bold days A deed of wilder bravery In all their stirring lays? The veteran loves to tell the tale, When night enwraps the earth, And youthful forms all eager crowd Around the household hearth.

The listeners,—how, as with hushed breath They drink in every word, Is the martial spirit through their veins Like a stream of lightning poured! How eye meets eye in a kindred blaze, Like the flash of sword on sword!

The Briton, on the hill's high brow, With levelled arms, they see; And thou below,—thy gray war-steed Dashing on gallantly, A shout springs to their lips, their souls Go leaping down with thee!

Like Wolfe, upon the crimsoned turf It was not thine to lie, The cannon's roar in thy dying ear, The strife in thy dying eye; With thy country's banner o'er thy head, Unrolling broad and free, And with thy passing spirit thrilled By shouts of "Victory!"

But by the hands of Peace and Love Thy white death-couch was spread;

And Hope unfurled her starry wing In glory o'er thy head.

In the sweet May-time, when flowers awoke, And earth was very fair, To the bending heaven the soldier's soul Uprose on the breath of prayer, And the shout of "Victory!"—here unheard— Was the soldier's welcome there.

Invocation to mother earth

Thou 'rt fair at eve, when skies receive The last smiles of the sun; When through the shades that twilight spreads The stars peep, one by one; Thou 'rt fair at night, when full starlight Streams down upon the sod; When moonlight pale, on hill and dale, Rests like the smile of God.

And thou art grand where lakes expand, And mighty rivers roll; Where ocean proud, with threatenings loud, Mocketh at man's control; And grand thou art when lightnings dart, And gleam athwart thy sky; When thunders peal, and forests reel, And storms go sweeping by.

We bless thee now, for gifts which thou Hast freely on us shed; For dew and showers, and beauteous flowers, And blue skies overhead; For morn's perfume, and mid-day's bloom, And evening's hour of mirth;

For glorious night, for all things bright, We bless thee. Mother Earth!

But when long years of care and tears Have come and passed away, The time may be when sadly we Shall turn to thee, and say,— "We are worn with life, its toils and strife, We long, we pine, for rest; We come, we come, all wearied, home,— Room, Mother, in thy breast!"

Spirit longings

Thus may I, on the sea of life, Launch forth all strong and brave, Wait through the lonely, tedious calm, And breast the stormy wave.

Bold Eagle, gazer on the sun, Child of the upper air! In low, unworthy strifes and sports He deigneth not to share: Behold him in a mountain land, When storm-clouds roll on high, Upon the gathering tempest look, With calm, uncowering eye! Loud thunders peal and crash around; He knoweth no affright, But spreads his wing upon the blast, And speeds his upward flight! Red lightnings blaze along his path, And play around his form; He joys, he glories, he exults, In striving with the storm!

Thus may my nature bear through life, Whatever may betide,

A scorn of all things low and mean, A stern and lofty pride; Thus may a dauntless, daring strength Be given unto my soul; Thus, thus through tempests may it sweep On, upward to its goal!

The bright, the beautiful, the glad, The swift and silvery River! Dim woods, dark rocks, along it frown, But it laugheth on for ever!

Thus may my heart, a joyous thing, Go laughing o'er the earth, And nothing sadden, nothing awe, Its careless, childlike mirth.

The blue, the broad, the deep, the strong, The wild, unfettered Sea! Methinks he might have taught the world That God had made it free. He lies at rest; upon his breast The stars are mirrored bright; He sees move through the courts of heaven The lovely queen of night,

And his strong pulses bound to meet Her sweet smile's placid light! Though worlds, though all created things Should threaten and command, He lies at rest. But see, the winds Are loosed from God's right hand, And the sea-bird screameth with affright, And the seaman steers to land!

Thus may this soul of mine be free, Thus mirror things above; Thus may its soft tides ever swell, Beneath the smile of love; Thus may the will of God alone Move its unfathomed deep, And wake its rushing, flashing thoughts From their inglorious sleep.

A gentle Star, lit up in heaven, And meekly beaming there, Its quiet light comes trembling down The sweet and silent air; Within the mist, behind the cloud, Its living rays still shine, Like sacred fires 'mid incense-wreaths That circle round the shrine.

Thus may my life shine forth a star, On all who walk in night, Unquenched by mists, undimmed by clouds, Till lost in morn's full light.

O spirit, be no more content To dream, aspire, and long! Grasp thou the grand, the beautiful, The proud, the free, the strong! O rouse! no more for far-off good, With folded hands, I pine; I seek, I yet will find, the springs To quench this thirst divine! And these, all these I covet now, God helping, shall be mine!

To a bereaved friend

It was the hand in love's devotion given, When first she stood thy young and trustful bride,— The hand which led thy children on to heaven,— 'T was hers who lived, joyed, suffered by thy side.