Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/86
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MY CHOICE.
"Here, lady fair, is the pearl of price,
May it prove such to thee!
Nay—keep thy gold, I ask it not,
For the Word, of God is free."
May it prove such to thee!
Nay—keep thy gold, I ask it not,
For the Word, of God is free."
The weary traveller went his way—
But the gift he left behind
Hath had its pure and perfect work
In that high-born maiden's mind,—
And she hath turned from her pride of sin
To the lowliness of truth,
And given her human heart to God
In its beautiful hour of youth.
But the gift he left behind
Hath had its pure and perfect work
In that high-born maiden's mind,—
And she hath turned from her pride of sin
To the lowliness of truth,
And given her human heart to God
In its beautiful hour of youth.
And she hath left the old grey walls
Where an evil faith hath power,
The courtly knights of her father's train,
And the maidens of her bower;
And she hath gone to the Vaudois' vale
By lordly feet untrod,
Where the poor and needy of earth are rich
In the perfect love of God.
Where an evil faith hath power,
The courtly knights of her father's train,
And the maidens of her bower;
And she hath gone to the Vaudois' vale
By lordly feet untrod,
Where the poor and needy of earth are rich
In the perfect love of God.
My Choice.
I ask not wealth;—the glittering toy
I never may command;
Let others own it is their joy,
And wield the gilded wand.
I never may command;
Let others own it is their joy,
And wield the gilded wand.
I ask not fame;—the laurelled wreath
My brow would never wear;
It cannot shield the heart from grief,
Or banish even care.
My brow would never wear;
It cannot shield the heart from grief,
Or banish even care.
I ask not beauty;—'tis a gem
As fleeting as 'tis bright;
Even one rough gale may bear it hence,
And saddening is its flight.
As fleeting as 'tis bright;
Even one rough gale may bear it hence,
And saddening is its flight.
Such fading flowers of earthly ground
Why should I e'er possess?—
In them no lasting bliss is found,
No solid happiness.
Why should I e'er possess?—
In them no lasting bliss is found,
No solid happiness.
The soul's calm sunshine I would know;
Be mine Religion's trust;
Be mine its precious truth to know;—
All else is sordid dust.
Be mine Religion's trust;
Be mine its precious truth to know;—
All else is sordid dust.