Poems (Dodd)/The Portrait and the Flowers
THE PORTRAIT AND THE FLOWERS.
I bring thee flowers, bright-blooming, autumn flowers:
The cold November rain, and blighting frost,
Swept o'er them, but they withered not,
And I have culled them from a sheltered bank,
Which all day long the warm sun shines upon.
Soldiers-in-green, the gold immortal flower,
Rich velvet violets, and the rose-hued aster,
All are here; an offering meet for thee:
Like them in purity of mind and life,
The storms of calumny have harmed thee not,
And thy true piety exhales around
As doth their sweet perfume.
Few years are thine
Yet on that open brow, ages of thought
Have left their shadowy trace, telling
Of mental toil, and the frame's weariness,
Spared not, or heeded, in thy Master's cause.
Would that those silent lips; so eloquent
In truth's defence; might from a picture speak;
For the glad tidings which they ever bring,
Some unbelieving hearts still wait to hear.
Heaven bless thy mission; soldier of the cross;
To win the sinful from their thorny way,
To heal the broken-hearted, and impart
Peace to the dying one; and may thine own
Straight path of duty be with life's flowers strewn.
A ray of golden sunlight sudden gleams
On cheek and brow, and those soft, serious eyes,
Seem sweetly smiling now with thankfulness
For these last blossoms of the fading year.
The cold November rain, and blighting frost,
Swept o'er them, but they withered not,
And I have culled them from a sheltered bank,
Which all day long the warm sun shines upon.
Soldiers-in-green, the gold immortal flower,
Rich velvet violets, and the rose-hued aster,
All are here; an offering meet for thee:
Like them in purity of mind and life,
The storms of calumny have harmed thee not,
And thy true piety exhales around
As doth their sweet perfume.
Few years are thine
Yet on that open brow, ages of thought
Have left their shadowy trace, telling
Of mental toil, and the frame's weariness,
Spared not, or heeded, in thy Master's cause.
Would that those silent lips; so eloquent
In truth's defence; might from a picture speak;
For the glad tidings which they ever bring,
Some unbelieving hearts still wait to hear.
Heaven bless thy mission; soldier of the cross;
To win the sinful from their thorny way,
To heal the broken-hearted, and impart
Peace to the dying one; and may thine own
Straight path of duty be with life's flowers strewn.
A ray of golden sunlight sudden gleams
On cheek and brow, and those soft, serious eyes,
Seem sweetly smiling now with thankfulness
For these last blossoms of the fading year.