There are hopes that play round her, like fires on the mast, That will light the dark hour till its danger has past; There are prayers that will plead with the storm when it raves, And whisper "Be still!" to the turbulent waves. Nay, think not that Friendship has called us in vain There is strength in its circle, you lose the bright star, But its sisters still chain it, though shining afar. I give you one health in the juice of the vine, April 29, 1855. AT A BIRTHDAY FESTIVAL. TO J. R. LOWELL. We will not speak of years to-night, - We will not drown in wordy praise We need not waste our schoolboy art To gild this notch of Time; Forgive me if my wayward heart Has throbbed in artless rhyme. Enough for him the silent grasp And he the bracelet's radiant clasp Strength to his hours of manly toil! Who loves alike the furrowed soil, Sweet smiles to keep forever bright And faith that sees the ring of light February 22, 1859. A BIRTHDAY TRIBUTE. TO J. F. CLARKE. WHO is the shepherd sent to lead, Through pastures green, the Master's sheep? What guileless "Israelite indeed The folded flock may watch and keep? He who with manliest spirit joins The heart of gentlest human mould, True to all Truth the world denies, Not tongue-tied for its gilded sin; Not always right in all men's eyes, But faithful to the light within; Who asks no meed of earthly fame, Who knows no earthly master's call, Who hopes for man, through guilt and shame, Still answering, "God is over all;" Who makes another's grief his own, Whose smile lends joy a double cheer; Where lives the saint, if such be known? Speak softly, such an one is here! O faithful shepherd! thou hast borne To thee our fragrant love we bring, What though our faltering accents fail, Our captives know their message well, Our words unbreathed their lips exhale, And sigh more love than ours can tell. April 4, 1860. |