Page:The poems of Richard Watson Gilder, Gilder, 1908.djvu/353

Rh God! make me worthy of Thy land

Which mine I call a little while;

This meadow where the sunset's smile

Falls like a blessing from Thy hand,

And where the river singing runs

'Neath wintry skies and summer suns!

Million on million years have sped

To frame green fields and bowering hills:

The mortal for a moment tills

His span of earth, then is he dead:

This knows he well, yet doth he hold

His paradise like miser's gold.

I would be nobler than to clutch

My little world with gloating grasp;

Now, while I live, my hands unclasp,

Or let me hold it not so much

For my own joy as for the good

Of all the gentle brotherhood.

And as the seasons move in mirth

Of bloom and bird, of snow and leaf,

May my calm spirit rise from grief,

In solace of the lovely earth;

And tho' the land be dark or lit,

O, let me gather songs from it.

A CALL TO THE MOUNTAINS

you once to the sea,

Come now to the mountains;

Climb the earth's ramparts with me,

Drink her deep fountains!

On the food that you love make merry;

Forget grind and grief