Legends and Lyrics. Part 1. Procter Adelaide Anne

      Stand this way – more near the window —

      By my desk – you see the light

      Falling on my picture better —

      Thus I see it while I write!

      Who the head may be I know not,

      But it has a student air;

      With a look half sad, half stately,

      Grave sweet eyes and flowing hair.

      Little care I who the painter,

      How obscure a name he bore;

      Nor, when some have named Velasquez,

      Did I value it the more.

      As it is, I would not give it

      For the rarest piece of art;

      It has dwelt with me, and listened

      To the secrets of my heart.

      Many a time, when to my garret,

      Weary, I returned at night,

      It has seemed to look a welcome

      That has made my poor room bright.

      Many a time, when ill and sleepless,

      I have watched the quivering gleam

      Of my lamp upon that picture,

      Till it faded in my dream.

      When dark days have come, and friendship

      Worthless seemed, and life in vain,

      That bright friendly smile has sent me

      Boldly to my task again.

      Sometimes when hard need has pressed me

      To bow down where I despise,

      I have read stern words of counsel

      In those sad reproachful eyes.

      Nothing that my brain imagined,

      Or my weary hand has wrought,

      But it watched the dim Idea

      Spring forth into armèd Thought.

      It has smiled on my successes,

      Raised me when my hopes were low,

      And by turns has looked upon me

      With all the loving eyes I know.

      Do you wonder that my picture

      Has become so like a friend? —

      It has seen my life’s beginnings,

      It shall stay and cheer the end!

      Judge not; the workings of his brain

      And of his heart thou canst not see;

      What looks to thy dim eyes a stain,

      In God’s pure light may only be

      A scar, brought from some well-won field,

      Where thou wouldst only faint and yield.

      The look, the air, that frets thy sight,

      May be a token, that below

      The soul has closed in deadly fight

      With some infernal fiery foe,

      Whose glance would scorch thy smiling grace,

      And cast thee shuddering on thy face!

      The fall thou darest to despise —

      May be the angel’s slackened hand

      Has suffered it, that he may rise

      And take a firmer, surer stand;

      Or, trusting less to earthly things,

      May henceforth learn to use his wings.

      And judge none lost; but wait, and see,

      With hopeful pity, not disdain;

      The depth of the abyss may be

      The measure of the height of pain

      And love and glory that may raise

      This soul to God in after days!

      Do not cheat thy Heart and tell her,

      “Grief will pass away,

      Hope for fairer times in future,

      And forget to-day.” —

      Tell her, if you will, that sorrow

      Need not come in vain;

      Tell her that the lesson taught her

      Far outweighs the pain.

      Cheat her not with the old comfort,

      “Soon she will forget” —

      Bitter truth, alas – but matter

      Rather for regret;

      Bid her not “Seek other pleasures,

      Turn to other things:” —

      Rather nurse her cagèd sorrow

      ’Till the captive sings.

      Rather bid her go forth bravely.

      And the stranger greet;

      Not as foe, with spear and buckler,

      But as dear friends meet;

      Bid her with a strong clasp hold her,

      By her dusky wings —

      Listening for the murmured blessing

      Sorrow always brings.

      One by one the sands are flowing,

      One by one the moments fall;

      Some are coming, some are going;

      Do not strive to grasp them all.

      One by one thy duties wait thee,

      Let thy whole strength go to each,

      Let no future dreams elate thee,

      Learn thou first what these can teach.

      One by one (bright gifts from Heaven)

      Joys are sent thee here below;

      Take them readily when given,

      Ready too to let them go.

      One by one thy griefs shall meet thee,

      Do not fear an armèd band;

      One will fade as others greet thee;

      Shadows passing through the land.

      Do not look at life’s long sorrow;

      See how small each moment’s pain;

      God will help thee for to-morrow,

      So each day begin again.

      Every hour that fleets so slowly

      Has its task to do or bear;

      Luminous the crown, and holy,

      When each gem is set with care.

      Do not linger with regretting,

      Or for passing hours despond;

      Nor, the daily toil forgetting,

      Look too eagerly beyond.

      Hours are golden links, God’s token,

      Reaching Heaven; but one by one

      Take them, lest