SELF-SATISFIED
Well satisfied with all his own, he stands
Holding a trembling balance in his hands;
On one scale—wealth and ease, men's praises, too—
Whatever charms the soul, and keeps it true.
But on the other scale—lo—the foul street
Where pallid children play, where poor folk greet,
And crowded houses dirty, dimly lit,
On whose dull walls all misery is writ,
Houses wherein the herded cannot fight
The ambushed evil lurking day and night.
Has he—contented one—who counts his gain,
Balanced the cost—the wretchedness and pain
Of those who help him hoard his heap of gold?
Ah, human life may be too dearly sold!
For see, the one scale weighs the other down.
His gold, his ease, his honors—by Heaven's frown
Withered to nothing, now, behold he stands—
Broken his scales—reaching imploring hands.
MY VIGIL
Companioned by the lonely hours,
My vigil with the stars I keep,—
The happy stars that never weep,—
The wakeful stars that never sleep,
Spirit of me that frets and cowers,
Ah, what am I, that I should be
And breathe in this Infinity?
Unburdened of the weight of self,
Toward the highest heights I am borne,
Below lies Earth, begrimed and worn,
Far, far from me her praise, her scorn,
Her joys, her woes, her loss, her pelf,
One with the happy stars am I!
Our limits the unbounded sky!
TO MRS. JULIA WARD HOWE
Dear Lady of Tranquillity, Ah! lightly have the years
Their music on thy heart-strings played, and all the smiles and tears
That mark the joy of living, that sound the depths of pain
For thee make one great harmony—a happy heart's refrain.
(On her eighty-sixth birthday.)