DEDICATION. I WOULD the gift I offer here Might graces from thy favor take, On softened lines and coloring, wear Few leaves of Fancy's spring remain : But what I have I give to thee, The o'er-sunned bloom of summer's plain, Calls from the westering slope of life's autumnal lea. Above the fallen groves of green, Where youth's enchanted forest stood, The dry and wasting roots between, A sober after-growth is seen, As springs the pine where falls the gay-leafed maple wood! Yet birds will sing, and breezes play Their leaf-harps in the sombre tree; And through the bleak and wintry day It keeps its steady green alway, — So, even my after-thoughts may have a charm for thee. Art's perfect forms no moral need, But for the dull and flowerless weed Some healing virtue still must plead, So haply these, my simple lays Of homely toil, may serve to show The orchard bloom and tasselled maize The unsung beauty hid life's common things below! Haply from them the toiler, bent Above his forge or plough, may gain A manlier spirit of content, And feel that life is wisest spent Where the strong working hand makes strong the work The doom which to the guilty pair Without the walls of Eden came, Transforming sinless ease to care The burden of old crime, or mark of primal shame. A blessing now a curse no more; Since He, whose name we breathe with awe, The coarse mechanic vesture wore, A poor man toiling with the poor, In labor, as in prayer, fulfilling the same law. |