Poems (Odom)/My Pictures
For works with similar titles, see My Pictures.
MY PICTURES.
[Inscribed to my brother and sister, Mr. and Mrs. H. S. Hunt, of San Francisco, Cal.]
While my heart is softly singing
To itself a low-toned song,
And the white waves of remembrance
Surge within it deep and strong;
Tossing upward to the surface
Pearly pleasures I have lost,
I can hear the gentle murmur
Of the waters I have crossed.
To itself a low-toned song,
And the white waves of remembrance
Surge within it deep and strong;
Tossing upward to the surface
Pearly pleasures I have lost,
I can hear the gentle murmur
Of the waters I have crossed.
Of the sunny stream of childhood
That has flown so far away;
Rippling, sparkling in the sunlight
Of a pure and cloudless day,
Gliding through the shifting shadows,
Gleaming beautiful and bright—
Speeding onward through the meadows
Like a living thing of light.
That has flown so far away;
Rippling, sparkling in the sunlight
Of a pure and cloudless day,
Gliding through the shifting shadows,
Gleaming beautiful and bright—
Speeding onward through the meadows
Like a living thing of light.
Ah! so strong is the remembrance
That I almost seem to be,
Once again among the children
Gathered at my Mother's knee;
And how lovingly she folded
Each bright head upon her breast,
But we always knew that Mother
Loved her only boy the best.
That I almost seem to be,
Once again among the children
Gathered at my Mother's knee;
And how lovingly she folded
Each bright head upon her breast,
But we always knew that Mother
Loved her only boy the best.
Our brave, honest-hearted brother,
How his merry boyish face
Rises up to-day before me,
In its old accustomed place.
But there came a day of parting,
Full of sorrow and of pain,
When he knelt before our Mother
As he never may again.
How his merry boyish face
Rises up to-day before me,
In its old accustomed place.
But there came a day of parting,
Full of sorrow and of pain,
When he knelt before our Mother
As he never may again.
And she clasped him to her bosom
With a low, heart-broken cry,
Feeling quite the bitter anguish
Of his death in that "good-bye."
Time, with all its many changes,
And its years, cannot destroy
The sad picture of our Mother
Parting from her only boy.
With a low, heart-broken cry,
Feeling quite the bitter anguish
Of his death in that "good-bye."
Time, with all its many changes,
And its years, cannot destroy
The sad picture of our Mother
Parting from her only boy.
I can see our white-haired Father
Lay his hands upon his head;
I can almost hear the falter
Of the last few words he said.
But a murmur, low and broken,
Bidding God-speed to his son—
The sire had almost finished
When the boy had just begun.
Lay his hands upon his head;
I can almost hear the falter
Of the last few words he said.
But a murmur, low and broken,
Bidding God-speed to his son—
The sire had almost finished
When the boy had just begun.
How the years have glided onward
Like the ocean, wave on wave:
Summer roses long have blossomed
Sweetly over Father's grave,
And across the rolling prairie,
From beside the sunset sea,
Came to-day two pictured faces,
Full of happy light to me.
Like the ocean, wave on wave:
Summer roses long have blossomed
Sweetly over Father's grave,
And across the rolling prairie,
From beside the sunset sea,
Came to-day two pictured faces,
Full of happy light to me.
One so handsome, frank, and noble,
Full of manhood's honest pride;
One so fair and sweet and girlish—
Like my brother and his bride.
In the manly face before me,
Wearing all its bridal joy;
I can trace the perfect likeness
Of the happy-hearted boy.
Full of manhood's honest pride;
One so fair and sweet and girlish—
Like my brother and his bride.
In the manly face before me,
Wearing all its bridal joy;
I can trace the perfect likeness
Of the happy-hearted boy.
Something older, somewhat graver—
'Tis the same, yet not the same—
Like the glowing of a fire
That has lost its flushing flame.
Ah! these youthful, pictured faces
Bring a gladness to my life,
As my heart in fond affection
Folds my brother and his wife.
'Tis the same, yet not the same—
Like the glowing of a fire
That has lost its flushing flame.
Ah! these youthful, pictured faces
Bring a gladness to my life,
As my heart in fond affection
Folds my brother and his wife.
Galveston, Texas, June 11, 1880.