The golden treasury of American songs and lyrics . WAITING. ^aifirxQ. CERENE, I fold my hands and wait,Nor care for wind, or tide, or sea;I rave no more gainst time or fate,For lo ! my own shall come to me. I stay my haste, I make delays,For what avails this eager pace ? I stand amid the eternal ways,And what is mine shall know my face. Asleep, awake, by night or day,The friends I seek are seeking me ; No wind can drive my bark astray,Nor change the tide of destiny. What matter if I stand alone ? I wait with joy the coming years;My heart shall reap where it has sown, And garner up its fruit of
The golden treasury of American songs and lyrics . WAITING. ^aifirxQ. CERENE, I fold my hands and wait,Nor care for wind, or tide, or sea;I rave no more gainst time or fate,For lo ! my own shall come to me. I stay my haste, I make delays,For what avails this eager pace ? I stand amid the eternal ways,And what is mine shall know my face. Asleep, awake, by night or day,The friends I seek are seeking me ; No wind can drive my bark astray,Nor change the tide of destiny. What matter if I stand alone ? I wait with joy the coming years;My heart shall reap where it has sown, And garner up its fruit of tears. The waters know their own and drawThe brook that springs in yonder height; So flows the good with equal lawUnto the soul of pure dehght. 227 AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. The stars come nightly to the sky; The tidal wave unto the sea;Nor time, nor space, nor deep, nor high, Can keep my own away from me. J. Burroughs. 22S. RICHARD WATSON GILDER THE FLIGHT. T TPON a cloud among the stars we stood. The angel raised his hand and looked and said. Which world, of all yon starry myriadShall we make wing to ? The still solitudeBecame a harp whereon his voice and mood Made spheral music round his haloed head. I spake — for then I had not long been dead — Let me look round upon the vasts, and broodA moment on these orbs ere I decide. . What is yon lower star that beauteous shines And with soft splendor now incarnadinesOur wings ? — There would I go and there abide. He smiled as one who some childs thoughtdivines : That is the world where yesternight you died. L. Mifflin. 229 AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. T^HERE is something in the autumn that is native to my blood —Touch of manner, hint of mood;And my heart is like a rhyme, With the yellow and the purple and the crimsonkeeping time. The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry Of bugles going by. And my lonely spirit thrills To see the frosty aster
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1900, booki, booksubjectamericanpoetry
