AN ETCHING.
A true knight! Knowing neither worldly fear,
Nor yet reproach of her unworldly faith;
Fine eyes shall see, yet see not, on this page,
A man, who from a woman's heart of hearts
Could earn, and keep, the sacred name of Friend.
TO MY FATHER.
Tired with the little follies of the day,
A child crept, sobbing, to your arms to say
Her evening prayer; and if by God or you
Forgiven and loved, she never asked or knew.
With life's mistake and care too early old,
And spent with sorrow upon sorrow told,
She finds the father's heart the surest rest;
The earliest love shall be the last and best.
THE GATES BETWEEN.
Pearl-white, opaque and fixed fast,
Flashing between the hands unclasped,
Blinding between despairing eyes,
The awful Gates shut to, at last,
On comfort snatched, and anguish done,
On every moan beneath the sun,
Till we and ours, and joy are one.