Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/136
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THE MARRIAGE VOW.
Nothing great is lightly won, nothing won is lost;
Every good deed, nobly done, will repay the cost:
Leave to Heaven, in humble trust, all you will to do;
But, if you'd succeed, you must "Paddle your own canoe!"
Every good deed, nobly done, will repay the cost:
Leave to Heaven, in humble trust, all you will to do;
But, if you'd succeed, you must "Paddle your own canoe!"
Cupid Taught by the Graces.
It is their summer haunt;—a giant oak
Stretches its sheltering arms above their heads,
And midst the twilight of depending boughs
They ply their eager task. Between them sits
A bright-haired child, whose softly glistening wings
Quiver with joy, as ever and anon
He, at their bidding, sweeps a chorded shell,
And draws its music forth. Wondering, he looks
For their approving smile, and quickly drinks
(Apt pupil!) from their lips instruction sweet—
Divine encouragement! And this is Love
Taught by the Graces how to point his darts
With milder mercy and discreeter aim;
To stir the bosom's lyre to harmony,
And waken strains of music from its chords
They never gave before!
Stretches its sheltering arms above their heads,
And midst the twilight of depending boughs
They ply their eager task. Between them sits
A bright-haired child, whose softly glistening wings
Quiver with joy, as ever and anon
He, at their bidding, sweeps a chorded shell,
And draws its music forth. Wondering, he looks
For their approving smile, and quickly drinks
(Apt pupil!) from their lips instruction sweet—
Divine encouragement! And this is Love
Taught by the Graces how to point his darts
With milder mercy and discreeter aim;
To stir the bosom's lyre to harmony,
And waken strains of music from its chords
They never gave before!
The Marriage Vow.
Speak it not lightly!—'tis a holy thing,
A bond enduring through long distant years,
When joy o'er thine abode is hovering,
Or when thine eye is wet with bitterest tears,
Recorded by an angel's pen on high,
And must be questioned in eternity!
A bond enduring through long distant years,
When joy o'er thine abode is hovering,
Or when thine eye is wet with bitterest tears,
Recorded by an angel's pen on high,
And must be questioned in eternity!
Speak it not lightly!—though the young and gay
Are thronging round thee now with tones of mirth,
Let not the holy promise of to-day
Fade like the clouds that with the morn have birth;
But ever bright and sacred may it be,
Stored in the treasure-cell of memory.
Are thronging round thee now with tones of mirth,
Let not the holy promise of to-day
Fade like the clouds that with the morn have birth;
But ever bright and sacred may it be,
Stored in the treasure-cell of memory.