The Feast of the Virgins and Other Poems eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 265 pages of information about The Feast of the Virgins and Other Poems.

CHARITY

[Written in a friend’s book of autographs, 1876.]

Bear and forbear, I counsel thee,
  Forgive and be forgiven,
For Charity is the golden key
  That opens the gate of heaven.

SAILOR-BOY’S SONG

Away, away, o’er the bounding sea
  My spirit flies like a gull;
For I know my Mary is watching for me,
  And the moon is bright and full.

She sits on the rock by the sounding shore,
  And gazes over the sea;
And she sighs, “Will my sailor-boy come no more? 
  Will he never come back to me?”

The moonbeams play in her raven hair;
  And the soft breeze kisses her brow;
But if your sailor-boy, love, were there,
  He would kiss your sweet lips I trow.

And mother—­she sits in the cottage-door;
  But her heart is out on the sea;
And she sighs, “Will my sailor-boy come no more? 
  Will he never come back to me?”

Ye winds that over the billows roam
  With a low and sullen moan,
O swiftly come to waft me home;
  O bear me back to my own.

For long have I been on the billowy deep,
  On the boundless waste of sea;
And while I sleep there are two who weep,
  And watch and pray for me.

When the mad storm roars till the stoutest fear
  And the thunders roll over the sea,
I think of you, Mary and mother dear,
  For I know you are thinking of me.

Then blow, ye winds, for my swift return;
  Let the tempest roar o’er the main;
Let the billows yearn and the lightning burn;
  They will hasten me home again.

MY DEAD

Last night in my feverish dreams I heard
A voice like the moan of an autumn sea,
Or the low, sad wail of a widowed bird,
And it said—­“My darling, come home to me.”

Then a hand was laid on my throbbing head—­
As cold as clay, but it soothed my pain: 
I wakened and knew from among the dead
My darling stood by my coach again.

DUST TO DUST

Dust to dust:  Fall and perish love and lust:  Life is one brief autumn day; Sin and sorrow haunt the way To the narrow house of clay, Clutching at the good and just:  Dust to dust.

Dust to dust: 
Still we strive and toil and trust,
  From the cradle to the grave: 
  Vainly crying, “Jesus, save!”
  Fall the coward and the brave,
Fall the felon and the just: 
    Dust to dust.

    Dust to dust: 
Hark, I hear the wintry gust;
  Yet the roses bloom to-day,
  Blushing to the kiss of May,
  While the north winds sigh and say: 
“Lo we bring the cruel frost—­
    Dust to dust.”

    Dust to dust: 
Yet we live and love and trust,
  Lifting burning brow and eye
  To the mountain peaks on high: 
  From the peaks the ages cry,
Strewing ashes, rime and rust: 
    “Dust to dust!”

Copyrights
Project Gutenberg
The Feast of the Virgins and Other Poems from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
Follow Us on Facebook