Page:Poems Larcom.djvu/190

God sends what the true heart brings:
 Stranger or familiar hand,
Priest among His holy things,
 Only bears the gift He planned.

And the best of all He sends
 Is no measured dole, but love;
Is not cumbering goods, but friends;
 Winged souls with ours to move.

Soon we tire of pleasure's toy;
 Flashes o'er us, while we grope,
Glory of remoter joy;
 Beckoning of a larger hope:

Far as dreams, yet close at hand;
 Worlds unveiled in one soul's bound,—
Riches of the sun-vaults grand
 At your threshold may be found.

Learn the fools' gold to despise;
 Coinage of heaven's mint to know
In the home-illuming eyes;
 In the fireside's quiet glow;