Passion-Flowers (Howe)/A Child's Excuse

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A CHILD'S EXCUSE.
If that I lay my hand upon thine armDetaining thee, be not impatient, friend!'T is that thou journeyest, bearing regal gifts,And I, a beggar, bid thee stand and lend.
Half for myself, I ask thy thoughts of thee,And holy words, that quicken and reprove;Half that my grateful soul may render backThe seed of wisdom in the growth of love.
Why thou canst give, and I receive, a boonSo blest and blessing, 'tis not mine to tell:Thou art a free-born creature—light and airFrom thee, the dungeon-glooms of Life dispel.
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That heavenly Art has formed thee thus, I thankGoodness and Wisdom endless—that to meThou art a herald of delight and hope,I feel deep joy in thanking only thee.
I am but wearing out my feeble hours—Linger thou long in Manhood's golden prime!I pass, Life's bankrupt, to eternity,Stay thou to reap th' inheritance of Time.
But even as now my spirit rises up,And bounding brings its welcome to thine heartThus, when thou too shalt cross the icy stream,I shall feel heavenly virtue where thou art.
And if the lowliest tenant I may beOf the high precincts of an angel's home,My mates, some day, shall mark a sudden joyTransfigure one who cries: 'My brother's come!'
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