GIFTS.
Hepaticas and violets blue,
And lilies with the fragrant bell—
Ah! they can speak the love so true
I have no other way to tell,
And so to one for tribute meet,
I bring my flowers, dewy, sweet.
And there is one I love full well
Beneath whose tender brooding eyes
Such little songs as in me dwell
Are gathered into melodies,
And heart to heart doth softly reach
By music's mystic, yearning speech.
And still is one with whom I share
Such wisdom as the years have taught
Through sacrament of daily care
That life's experience has wrought;
To counsel him, console, uplift,
Keep step with step—this is my gift.
And what remains, Beloved, for thee,
To whom I fain all things would be?
Alas, for thee the wounds and pain,
The piercing thorn, the searing rod,
The stroke that cleft my life in twain,
The chastisement that was of God—
These are my only offering,
For, O! myself to thee I bring.