Save a little pause of attention, and a little thrill of delight, When the dead were waked from their slumbers, and the blind recalled to sight? Say, the King came forth with the morning, and opened his palace doors, Thence flinging his gifts like sunbeams that break upon marble floors; But the wind with wild pinions caught them, and carried them round about: Though I looked till mine eyes were dazzled, I never could make them out. But he bade me go far and find them, "go seek them with zeal and pain: The hand is most welcome to me that brings me mine own again; And those who follow them furthest, with faithful searching and sight, Are brought with joy to my presence, and sit at my feet all night." So, hither and thither walking, I gather them broadly cast; Where yonder young face doth sicken, it may be the best and last. In no void or vague of duty I come to his aid to-day: I bring God's love to his bedside, and carry God's gift away. THE FINE LADY. HER heart is set on folly, An amber gathering straws: She courts each poor occurrence, Heeds not the heavenly laws. She has a little beauty, Pity her! And she flaunts it in the day, While the selfish wrinkles, spreading, Steal all its charm away. She has a little money, Pity her! And she flings it everywhere: 'Tis a gewgaw on her bosom, A tinsel in her hair. Pity her ! She has a little feeling, She spreads a foolish net That snares her own weak footsteps, Not his for whom 'tis set. Pity her! Ye harmless household drudges, And horny palms of labor A softer heart may bear. Pity her! Ye steadfast ones, whose burthens Weigh valorous shoulders down, With hands that cannot idle, And brows that will not frown, Pity her! Ye saints, whose thoughts are folded As graciously to rest As a dove's stainless pinions Upon her guileless breast, Pity her! |