CONSECRATION.
125
I am weak; I confess it,—courage will fail me, must I yield up
All that I own of earth's glory,—all that I hold dear, and prize?
Heaven's beneficent gift to me,—my soul's blest anchor of hope?
Smile as I offer it,—clothed, crowned, for the fell sacrifice?
All that I own of earth's glory,—all that I hold dear, and prize?
Heaven's beneficent gift to me,—my soul's blest anchor of hope?
Smile as I offer it,—clothed, crowned, for the fell sacrifice?
True, they soothe me with fair words; he will win honor, glory, and fame;
He will come back to me covered with victory's proud scars;
I shall blush red with my pride when the multitude shout forth his name!
My daring hero! my valiant knight! home returned from the wars!
He will come back to me covered with victory's proud scars;
I shall blush red with my pride when the multitude shout forth his name!
My daring hero! my valiant knight! home returned from the wars!
Well, it may be so, but—if!—oh, that terrible, shuddering doubt!
Creeping into my breast,—paralyzing to marble my heart!
No! no! it is useless! impotent I to cast the intruder out!
Cease urging,—ask it not of me; we cannot exist apart!
Creeping into my breast,—paralyzing to marble my heart!
No! no! it is useless! impotent I to cast the intruder out!
Cease urging,—ask it not of me; we cannot exist apart!
Will Fame assuage death's anguish? will it make more enticing the grave?
Will it dry up a tear, hush a sob, or tear from sorrow a pain?
Will it dry up a tear, hush a sob, or tear from sorrow a pain?
