Читать книгу Poems - Julia C. R. Dorr - Страница 13

Table of Contents

Little store of wealth have I; Not a rood of land I own; Nor a mansion fair and high Built with towers of fretted stone. Stocks, nor bonds, nor title-deeds, Flocks nor herds have I to show; When I ride, no Arab steeds Toss for me their manes of snow.

I have neither pearls nor gold, Massive plate, nor jewels rare; Broidered silks of worth untold, Nor rich robes a queen might wear. In my garden’s narrow bound Flaunt no costly tropic blooms, Ladening all the air around With a weight of rare perfumes.

Yet to an immense estate Am I heir, by grace of God,— Richer, grander than doth wait Any earthly monarch’s nod. Heir of all the Ages, I— Heir of all that they have wrought, All their store of emprise high, All their wealth of precious thought.

Every golden deed of theirs Sheds its lustre on my way; All their labors, all their prayers, Sanctify this present day! Heir of all that they have earned By their passion and their tears,— Heir of all that they have learned Through the weary, toiling years!

Heir of all the faith sublime On whose wings they soared to heaven; Heir of every hope that Time To Earth’s fainting sons hath given! Aspirations pure and high— Strength to dare and to endure— Heir of all the Ages, I— Lo! I am no longer poor!