FOUR LETTERS
(INSCRIBED TO OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES)
[In an old almanac of the year 1809, against the date August 29th, there is this record, "Son b." The sand that was thrown upon the fresh ink seventy years ago can still be seen upon the page.]Four letters on a yellow page
Writ when the century was young;
A few small grains of shining sand
Across it lightly flung!
Writ when the century was young;
A few small grains of shining sand
Across it lightly flung!
A child was born—child nameless yet;
A son to love till life was o'er;
But did no strange, sweet prescience stir,
Teaching of something more?
A son to love till life was o'er;
But did no strange, sweet prescience stir,
Teaching of something more?
Thy son! O father, hadst thou known
What now the wide world knows of him,
How had thy pulses thrilled with joy,
How had thine eye grown dim!
What now the wide world knows of him,
How had thy pulses thrilled with joy,
How had thine eye grown dim!
Couldst thou, through all the swift, bright years,
Have looked, with glad, far-reaching gaze,
And seen him as he stands to-day,
Crowned with unfading bays—
Have looked, with glad, far-reaching gaze,
And seen him as he stands to-day,
Crowned with unfading bays—
While Love's red roses at his feet
Pour all their wealth of rare perfume,
And Truth's white lilies, pure as snow,
His lofty way illume—
Pour all their wealth of rare perfume,
And Truth's white lilies, pure as snow,
His lofty way illume—
