Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/86

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MY CHOICE.
"Here, lady fair, is the pearl of price, May it prove such to thee!Nay—keep thy gold, I ask it not, For the Word, of God is free."
The weary traveller went his way— But the gift he left behindHath had its pure and perfect work In that high-born maiden's mind,—And she hath turned from her pride of sin To the lowliness of truth,And given her human heart to God In its beautiful hour of youth.
And she hath left the old grey walls Where an evil faith hath power,The courtly knights of her father's train, And the maidens of her bower;And she hath gone to the Vaudois' vale By lordly feet untrod,Where the poor and needy of earth are rich In the perfect love of God.
My Choice.
I ask not wealth;—the glittering toy I never may command;Let others own it is their joy, And wield the gilded wand.
I ask not fame;—the laurelled wreath My brow would never wear;It cannot shield the heart from grief, Or banish even care.
I ask not beauty;—'tis a gem As fleeting as 'tis bright;Even one rough gale may bear it hence, And saddening is its flight.
Such fading flowers of earthly ground Why should I e'er possess?—In them no lasting bliss is found, No solid happiness.
The soul's calm sunshine I would know; Be mine Religion's trust;Be mine its precious truth to know;— All else is sordid dust.
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