Poems (Storrie)/The Coward
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The Coward.
The little life, soft-moulded, that fits my circling arm,
The little heart that leans on mine, and knows no sin nor harm,
The little thoughts that I can guide, the days that I can plan,
Yes, yes, this is my little son, but oh! my soul—a man!
That complex riddle God has made, from which he seems to shrink,
And turn his face, a man! to live, and fight, and strive, and think
Thoughts that I cannot fathom, see sights I never saw,
Dream dreams, and fight temptations, and make, or break the law.
A man! an arrow launched by me to pierce unmeasured space,
And hit the mark, or miss and fail, and meet me face to face
In some obscure hereafter—my heart shakes in my breast.
Oh! let me keep my little child; I dare not face the rest.
The little heart that leans on mine, and knows no sin nor harm,
The little thoughts that I can guide, the days that I can plan,
Yes, yes, this is my little son, but oh! my soul—a man!
That complex riddle God has made, from which he seems to shrink,
And turn his face, a man! to live, and fight, and strive, and think
Thoughts that I cannot fathom, see sights I never saw,
Dream dreams, and fight temptations, and make, or break the law.
A man! an arrow launched by me to pierce unmeasured space,
And hit the mark, or miss and fail, and meet me face to face
In some obscure hereafter—my heart shakes in my breast.
Oh! let me keep my little child; I dare not face the rest.