Poesy.
Oh, Poesy! White-winged Goddess thou,
With Heaven's garlands on thy brow;
Earth's beauties thou alone can teach,
And thou alone can Love beseech;
For choicest thoughts are clothed in words
That enter hearts, more keen than swords;
By rythm soft and cadence mild,
They with broken hearts have smiled;
And they who stand beside the bier
Of all their hopes, take courage here,
Because in words more dear than gold,
Life's lessons teach, though worn and old,
In lines of thought so rich and rare,
That bids them hope, and not despair.
In every soul there gleams a drift
Of Poesy, we could but sift
The dross from out the gems, and see
The beauty and the melody.
He made His image not in vain,
'Though sinfulness hath beauty slain;
And He hath taught thee well the art,
Oh, Poesy! that better part;
To twine and mingle with the air
The sweetest scents of blossoms fair;
With Heaven's garlands on thy brow;
Earth's beauties thou alone can teach,
And thou alone can Love beseech;
For choicest thoughts are clothed in words
That enter hearts, more keen than swords;
By rythm soft and cadence mild,
They with broken hearts have smiled;
And they who stand beside the bier
Of all their hopes, take courage here,
Because in words more dear than gold,
Life's lessons teach, though worn and old,
In lines of thought so rich and rare,
That bids them hope, and not despair.
In every soul there gleams a drift
Of Poesy, we could but sift
The dross from out the gems, and see
The beauty and the melody.
He made His image not in vain,
'Though sinfulness hath beauty slain;
And He hath taught thee well the art,
Oh, Poesy! that better part;
To twine and mingle with the air
The sweetest scents of blossoms fair;
—6—
