Читать книгу The Mother's Dream, and Other Poems - Hannah Flagg Gould - Страница 18

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I ’m bound to the house of my Father;

O draw not my feet from the way;

Nor stop me these wild flowers to gather!

They droop at my touch, and decay.

I think of the flowers, that are blooming

In beauty unfading above,

The wings of the angels perfuming,

Who fly down on errands of love.

Of earth’s shallow waters the drinking

Is powerless my thirst to allay;

Their taste is of tears, while we ’re sinking

Beside them, where quicksands betray.

I long, from that fount ever-living,

That flows by my Father’s own door,

With waters so sweet and life-giving,

To drink, and to thirst never more.

The gold of his bright, happy dwelling

Makes all lower gold to look dim;

Its treasures, all treasures excelling,

Shine forth to allure me to Him.

The pearls of this world while I ’m treading

In dust, where as pebbles they lie,

I seek the rich pearl, that is shedding

Its lustre so pure from on high.

For pains my torn spirit is feeling,

No balsam from earth it receives:

I go to the tree, that hath healing

To drop on my wounds from its leaves.

A child that is weary with roaming,

Returning in gladness to see

A home and a parent, I ’m coming—

My Father, I hasten to thee!