Cheerfulness Taught By Reason I THINK we are too ready with complaint In this fair world of Gods. Had we no hope Indeed beyond the zenith and the slope Of yon gray blank of sky, we might grow faint To muse upon eternitys constraint Round our aspirant souls; but since the scope Must widen early, is it well to droop, For a few days consumed in loss and taint ? O pusillanimous Heart, be comforted And, like a cheerful traveller, take the road Singing beside the hedge. What if the bread Be bitter in thine inn, and thou unshod To meet the flints ? At least it may be said Because the way is short, I thank thee, God. Patience Taught By Nature O DREARY life, we cry, O dreary life ! And still the generations of the birds Sing through our sighing, and the flocks and herds Serenely live while we are keeping strife With Heavens true purpose in us, as a knife Against which we may struggle ! Ocean girds Unslackened the dry land, savannah-swards Unweary sweep, hills watch unworn, and rife Meek leaves drop year]y from the forest-trees To show, above, the unwasted stars that pass In their old glory: O thou God of old, Grant me some smaller grace than comes to these !-- But so much patience as a blade of grass Grows by, contented through the heat and cold Rosalinds Scroll I LEFT thee last, a child at heart, A woman scarce in years: I come to thee, a solemn corpse Which neither feels nor fears. I have no breath to use in sighs; They laid the dead-weights on mine eyes To seal them safe from tears. Look on me with thine own calm look: I meet it calm as thou. No look of thine can change this smile, Or break thy sinful vow: I tell thee that my poor scornd heart Is of thine earth--thine earth--a part: It cannot vex thee now. I have prayd for thee with bursting sob When passions course was free; I have prayd for thee with silent lips In the anguish none could see; They whisperd oft, She sleepeth soft-- But I only prayd for thee. Go to! I pray for thee no more: The corpses tongue is still; Its folded fingers point to heaven, But point there stiff and chill: No farther wrong, no farther woe Hath licence from the sin below Its tranquil heart to thrill. I charge thee, by the livings prayer, And the deads silentness, To wring from out thy soul a cry Which God shall hear and bless! Lest Heavens own palm droop in my hand, And pale among the saints I stand, A saint companionless. Elizabeth Barrett BROWNING
Posted on: Sat, 26 Oct 2013 19:02:09 +0000
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