Poems (Hoffman)/My Poem
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MY POEM
If I could write it all just as I feel it—
My inner life, my real though hidden self—
I think no idle hand could chance unseal it
And lay it by unread upon the shelf.
My inner life, my real though hidden self—
I think no idle hand could chance unseal it
And lay it by unread upon the shelf.
'Twould be the sweetest, saddest, grandest poem
That ever dropped in crystals, gem by gem
'Twould sound to every life a living poem
Written in heart-throbs from a poet's pen.
That ever dropped in crystals, gem by gem
'Twould sound to every life a living poem
Written in heart-throbs from a poet's pen.
'Twould be the highest love in power and pathos,
The tenderest sympathies, the sweetest thrills
The truest, highest sentiments and all those
High outlooks from the soul's eternal hills.
The tenderest sympathies, the sweetest thrills
The truest, highest sentiments and all those
High outlooks from the soul's eternal hills.
'Twould hold the world in its mad rush to grovel
In competition, avarice and strife
Of party factions, from their low mind hovel
They'd see the heaven-high palaces of life.
In competition, avarice and strife
Of party factions, from their low mind hovel
They'd see the heaven-high palaces of life.
Where through still nights God speaks and wings of angels
Temper the glory from our dazzled eyes,
Where human sorrows change to sweet evangels
That make more gentle all that in man lies.
Temper the glory from our dazzled eyes,
Where human sorrows change to sweet evangels
That make more gentle all that in man lies.
Oh, it would be the battle hymn of nations;
This poem, where'er sorrow has its place;
'Twould thrill with courage in its strong vibrations
Of a life's anguish borne with patient grace!
This poem, where'er sorrow has its place;
'Twould thrill with courage in its strong vibrations
Of a life's anguish borne with patient grace!