A BIRTHDAY ADDRESS.
TO ANTHONY ASHLEY COOPER, SEVENTH EARL OF SHAFTESBURY, K. G., APRIL 13, 1880.
For eighty years! Many will count them over,
But none but He who knoweth all may guess
What those long years have held of high endeavor,
Of world-wide blessing and of blessedness.
For eighty years the champion of the right
Of hapless child neglected and forlorn;
Of maniac dungeoned in his double night;
Of woman overtasked and labor-worn;
Of homeless boy, in streets with peril rife;
Of workman, sickened in his airless den;
Of Indian parching for the streams of life;
Of negro slave in bond of cruel men.
O Friend of all the friendless 'neath the sun,
Whose hand hath wiped away a thousand tears,
Whose fervent lips and clear strong brain have done
God's holy service, lo! these eighty years,—
How meet it seems thy grand and vigorous age
Should find beyond man's race fresh pangs to spare,
And for the wronged and tortured brutes engage
In yet fresh labors and ungrudging care!
Oh, tarry long amongst us! Live, we pray,
Hasten not yet to hear thy Lord's "Well done!"
Let this world still seem better while it may
Contain one soul like thine amid its throng.
Whilst thou art here our inmost hearts confess,
Truth spake the kingly seer of old who said,—
"Found in the way of God and righteousness,
A crown of glory is the hoary head."
Miss F. P. Cobbe.