O wild and wondrous midnight, A PRAYER. GOD! do not let my loved one die, But rather wait until the time Enough to enter thy pure clime, O, let her stay! She is by birth We need her more on our poor earth thee: She hath her wings already, I Then, God, take me! We shall be near, THE HERITAGE. THE rich man's son inherits lands, And he inherits soft white hands, The rich man's son inherits cares; The bank may break, the factory burn, A breath may burst his bubble shares, And soft white hands could hardly earn A living that would serve his turn; The rich man's son inherits wants, His stomach craves for dainty fare; What doth the poor man's son inherit? What doth the poor man's son inherit? What I through death must learn to A heritage, it seems to me, be; A king might wish to hold in fee. What doth the poor man's son inherit ? To make the outcast bless his door; A heritage, it seems to me, A king might wish to hold in fee. O rich man's son ! there is a toil That with all others level stands; Large charity doth never soil, But only whiten, soft white hands, This is the best crop from thy lands; A heritage, it seems to be, Worth being rich to hold in fee. O poor man's son ! scorn not thy state; Toil only gives the soul to shine, A heritage, it seems to me, Both, heirs to some six feet of sod, Are equal in the earth at last; Where there's none that loveth me. On the rock the billow bursteth And sinks back into the seas, But in vain my spirit thirsteth So to burst and be at ease. Take, O sea! the tender blossom That hath lain against my breast; On thy black and angry bosom It will find a surer rest. Life is vain, and love is hollow, Ugly death stands there behind, Hate and scorn and hunger follow Him that toileth for his kind." Forth into the night he hurled it, And with bitter smile did mark How the surly tempest whirled it Swift into the hungry dark. Foam and spray drive back to leeward, And the gale, with dreary moan, Drifts the helpless blossom seaward, Through the breakers all alone. II. Stands, a maiden, on the morrow, Tracing words upon the sand: Mine with love forevermore !" But, with omen pure and meet, Brings a little rose, and throws it Humbly at the maiden's feet. Full of bliss she takes the token, And, upon her snowy breast, Soothes the ruffled petals broken With the ocean's fierce unrest. "Love is thine, O heart! and surely Peace shall also be thine own, For the heart that trusteth purely Never long can pine alone." III. In his tower sits the poet, Blisses new and strange to him Fill his heart and overflow it With a wonder sweet and dim. Up the beach the ocean slideth With a whisper of delight, And the moon in silence glideth Through the peaceful blue of night. Rippling o'er the poet's shoulder Flows a maiden's golden hair, Maiden lips, with love grown bolder, Kiss his moon-lit forehead bare. "Life is joy, and love is power, Death all fetters doth unbind, Strength and wisdom only flower When we toil for all our kind. Hope is truth, the future giveth More than present takes away, And the soul forever liveth Nearer God from day to day." Not a word the maiden uttered, Fullest hearts are slow to speak, But a withered rose-leaf fluttered Down upon the poet's cheek. |