George Willis Cooke, comp. The Poets of Transcendentalism: An Anthology. 1903.
EncouragementMargaret Fuller (18101850)
O F
Falls sweetly on the weary ear!
Often, in hours of sickening pain,
It soothes me to thy rest again.
Following thy footsteps faithfully,
Then should I still the succor prove
Of him who gave his life for love.
For bliss that ne’er on earth we meet,
For perfect sympathy of soul,
For those such heavy laws control;
I see the dreams that filled it fly,
Amid my bitter tears and sighs
Those gentle words before me rise.
The founts of intellect I drain,
And con with over-anxious thought
What poets sung and heroes wrought.
I with like gems would deck my days;
No fires creative in me burn,
And, humbled, I to Thee return;
Of skepticism drear and cold,
When love, and hope, and joy, and pride,
Forsook a spirit deeply tried;
Prayer, too impatient, lost its power;
From thy benignity a ray
I caught, and found the perfect day.
For the first time I watched my dead;
The widow’s sobs were checked in vain,
And childhood’s tears poured down like rain.
In sorrow, years gone by retrace,
When, nearest duties most forgot,
I might have blessed, and did it not!
Heedless, passed by what most he loved,
Knew not a life like his to prize,
Of ceaseless toil and sacrifice.
No cares display a daughter’s love,
The fair occasion lost, no more
Can thoughts more just to thee restore.
For all I ’ve done, and left undone?
Tearful I search the parting words
Which the belovèd John records.
My duties clear before me rise,—
Before thou think’st of taste or pride,
See home affections satisfied!
But on well-doing constant bent:
When self seems dear, self-seeking fair,
Remember this sad hour in prayer!
Much can one do who loveth much.
More of thy spirit, Jesus, give,
Not comfortless, though sad, to live.
To copy him who here below
Sought but to do his Father’s will,
Though from such sweet composure still
One whose best hopes on thee are stayed?
Breathe into me thy perfect love,
And guide me to thy rest above!