And as my own grandson rides on my knee,
Or plays with his hoop or kite,
I can well recollect I was merry as he-
The bright-eyed little wight!
'Tis not long since, it cannot be long, —
My years so soon were spent,
Since I was a boy, both straight and strong,
Yet now I am feeble and bent.
A dream, a dream, it is all a dream!
A strange, sad dream, good smooth;
For old as I am, and old as I seem,
My heart is full of youth:
Eye hath not seen, tongue hath not told,
And ear hath not heard it
How buoyant and bold, though it seem to grow old,
Is the heart, for ever young;
For ever young, - though life's old age
Hath every nerve unstrung:
The heart, the heart is a heritage
That keeps the old man young!
Away with false fashion, so calm and so chill,
Where pleasure itself cannot please;
Away with cold breeding, that faithlessly still
Affects to be quite at its ease;
For the deepest in feeling is highest in rank,
The freest is first in the band,
And nature's own Nobleman, friendly and frank,
Is a man with his heart in his hand!
Fearless in honesty, gentle yet just,
He warmly can love,
Nor will he bow down with his face in the dust
To Fashion's intolerant state:
For best in good breeding, and highest in rank,
Though lowly or poor in the land,
Is nature's own Nobleman, friendly and frank,
The man with his heart in his hand!
His fashion is passion, sincere and intense,
His impulses, simple and true,
Yet tempered by judgment, and taught by good sense,
And cordial with me, and with you :
For the finest in manners, as highest in rank,
It is you, man! or you, man! who stand
Nature's own Nobleman, friendly and frank,
A man with his heart in his hand!
Never give up! it is wiser and better
Always to hope, than once to despair;
Fling off the load of Doubt's cankering fetter,
And break the dark spell of tyrannical care:
Never give up! or the burthen may sink you,
Providence kindly hath mingled the cup,
And in all trials or troubles, bethink you,
The watchword of life must be, Never give up!
Never give up! there are chances and changes
Helping the hopeful, a hundred to one,
And through the chaos High Wisdom arranges
Ever success,
- if you'll only hope on:
Never give up! for the wisest is boldest,
Knowing that Providence mingles the cup,
And of all maxims the best, as the oldest,
Is the true watchword of Never give up!
Never give up!-though the grape-shot may rattle,
Or the full thunder-cloud over you burst,
Stand like a rock, — and the storm or the battle
Little shall harm you, though doing their worst ;
Never give up!-if adversity presses,
Providence wisely hath mingled the cup,
And the best counsel, in all your distresses,
Is the stout watchword of Never give up!
Blame not, ye million worshipers of gold
Modern idolaters- their works and ways,
When Asia's children, in the times of old,
Knelt to the sun, outpouring prayer and praise
As to God's central throne; for when the blaze
Of that grand eye is on me, and I stand
Watching its majesty with painful gaze,
I too could kneel among the Persian band,
Had not the Architect of yon bright sphere Taught me Himself; bidding me look above, Beneath, around, and still to find Him - here! King of the heart, dwelling in no fixt globe,
But gladly throned within the spirit of love, Wearing that light etherial as a robe.
KNOW thee not, O moon, - thou caverned relm
Sad satellite, a giant ash of death,
Where cold, alternate, and the sulphurous breath
Of ravaging volcanoes, overwhelm
All chance of life like ours, art thou not
Some fallow world, after a reaping time
Of creatures' judgment, resting in thy lot?
Or haplier must I take thee for the blot
On God's fair firmament, the home of crime,
The prison-house of sin, where damned souls
Feed upon punishment?-O thought sublime,
That, amid Night's black deeds, when evil prowls
Through the broad world, then, watching sinners well
Glares over all the wakeful eye of — Hell!
Far-flaming stars, ye sentinels of Space,
Patient and silent ministers around
Your Queen, the moon, whose melancholy face
Seems ever pale with pity and grief profound
For sinful Earth, I, a poor groveller here,
A captive eagle chain'd to this dull ground,
Look up and love your light in hope and fear:
Hope, that among your myriad host is one,
A kingdom for my spirit, a bright place
Where I shall reign when this short race is run,
An heir of joy and glory's mighty son!
Yet, while I hope, the fear will freeze my brain -
What if indeed for worthless me remain
No waiting sceptre, no predestined throne ?
Hence, doubts of darkness! I am not mine own,
But ransomed by the King of that bright host:
In Him my just humility shall boast,
And claim through Him that sceptre and that throne.
Yes, world of light, when by the booming sea
At eve I loiter on this shingly coast,
In seeming idleness, I gaze on thee,
(I know not which - but one,) fated to be
My glorious heritage, my heavenly home,
A temple and a paradise for me,
Whence my celestial form at will may roam
To other worlds, unthought and unexplor'd,
Whose atmosphere is bliss and liberty,
The palaces and gardens of the Lord!
Forgive and Farget.
When streams of unkindness, as bitter as gall,
Bubble up from the heart to the tongue,
And Meekness is writhing in torment and thrall,
By the hands of Ingratitude wrung,
In the heat of injustice, unwept and unfair,
While the anguish is festering yet,
None, none but an angel, or God, can declare
"I now can forgive and forget."
But, if the bad spirit is chased from the heart
And the lips are in penitence steep'd,
With the wrong so repented the wrath will depart,
Though scorn on injustice were heaped;
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