Enough, it is my King's command!
What more do I require?
Yet what is from a father's hand
Can but to good conspire.
And all Thy workings are inwove
In Thine eternal plan,
Which wills the welfare in Thy love,
And works the weal of man.
Sonnet to ———.
Journeying through a desert, waste and drear,
Exhausted and disheartened by his way,
So hard and parched, unchanged from day to day,
Saw the lone traveller an oasis near,
In which a tender flower did appear,
Endued with beauty and with fragrance sweet,
Known not to scorching winds nor blighting heat;
And gazing on it, it imparted cheer.
The traveller trod the weary sands of Time,
Entering thy home delightful peace he found;
Radiant with youthful beauty half divine,
On him thine angel face with sunbeams crowned
Smiled, and that artless, beaming smile of thine
Sped to his soul that with new life did bound.
The Song of the Summer Cloud.
I am arrayed in light and shade,
A free-born spirit of air;
A fanciful theme like a twilight dream,
Or a maiden young and fair.
And now I float like a phantom boat
With a vague and varying hue,
Fading from sight in the beams of light
On an ocean clear and blue.
And now I am wooed by the wind so rude,
As he rushes in fury past,
Who his bride doth crown with a darkening frown
As I ride in the car of the blast.
And down I pour 'mid the thunder's roar
While the lightnings gleam and glare,
Till the floods resound as they burst their bound
And laugh at what man can dare.