Poems (Rice)/To the Future Occupant of my Home at Melrose
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TO THE FUTURE OCCUPANT OF MY HOME AT MELROSE.
GENTLE lady, after sealing
I would write a simple line;
Not without emotion, feeling,
While I by this act resign;
Destiny there's no defying,
It is done, the Deed is sealed;
Many memories undying—
These my heart can never yield.
I would write a simple line;
Not without emotion, feeling,
While I by this act resign;
Destiny there's no defying,
It is done, the Deed is sealed;
Many memories undying—
These my heart can never yield.
How upon a theme so tender
Can I trust my heart to-day,
While my home to thee I render,
Tell thee all I wish to say?
This is anguish never sounded,
Never till to-day before;
This is sadness, grief unbounded,
Reaching.to my bosom's core.
Can I trust my heart to-day,
While my home to thee I render,
Tell thee all I wish to say?
This is anguish never sounded,
Never till to-day before;
This is sadness, grief unbounded,
Reaching.to my bosom's core.
Gentle lady, if I falter,
Pardon—this is hard to bear—
Yielding up my home, my altar,
Dear to me beyond compare;
Here are links which I must sever,
Ties to break and yet be strong;
In the path of duty ever,
This shall cheer, to-day, my song.
Pardon—this is hard to bear—
Yielding up my home, my altar,
Dear to me beyond compare;
Here are links which I must sever,
Ties to break and yet be strong;
In the path of duty ever,
This shall cheer, to-day, my song.
Lady, oft alone thou'lt ponder
On the beauty of each view,
And thy mind be filled with wonder,
It may thrill with rapture too;
From the north and south extended,
Every way which thou mayst turn,
Nature's mysteries are blended,
Something ever new to learn.
On the beauty of each view,
And thy mind be filled with wonder,
It may thrill with rapture too;
From the north and south extended,
Every way which thou mayst turn,
Nature's mysteries are blended,
Something ever new to learn.
All these sacred pictures leaving,
All I render unto thee;
Still my heart to them is cleaving,
Still they bear a charm for me;
Scented groves and garden bowers,
Vales I ne'er may see again,
Mountains, rocks, and wild wood flowers—
Language, ah, to-day is vain.
All I render unto thee;
Still my heart to them is cleaving,
Still they bear a charm for me;
Scented groves and garden bowers,
Vales I ne'er may see again,
Mountains, rocks, and wild wood flowers—
Language, ah, to-day is vain.
Gentle lady, from thy slumbers,
When each morn thou dost awake,
When the minstrels trill their numbers,
A request I have to make,—
To attend this feathered choir;
Long with thee will they abide,
Charming more than lute or lyre
If thou wilt for them provide.
When each morn thou dost awake,
When the minstrels trill their numbers,
A request I have to make,—
To attend this feathered choir;
Long with thee will they abide,
Charming more than lute or lyre
If thou wilt for them provide.
Still another I implore,
Of importance more than this;
When the needy at thy door,
That they never me may miss;
Of thy goods O give a share,
Speak a tender word for me;
While ascends my daily prayer,
I will offer one for thee.
Of importance more than this;
When the needy at thy door,
That they never me may miss;
Of thy goods O give a share,
Speak a tender word for me;
While ascends my daily prayer,
I will offer one for thee.
Like the Dove, alone and dreary,
Henceforth from this Ark I go;
Searching till my heart may weary
For a resting-place below;
Like the Dove of olden story,
Happy would it be for me
Should I find that peace, that glory,
In that Ark, O God, with Thee.
Henceforth from this Ark I go;
Searching till my heart may weary
For a resting-place below;
Like the Dove of olden story,
Happy would it be for me
Should I find that peace, that glory,
In that Ark, O God, with Thee.