STRIVE; yet I do not promiseThe prize you dream of to-dayWill not fade when you think to grasp it,And melt in your hand away;But another and holier treasure,You would now perchance disdain,Will come when your toil is over,And pay you for all your pain.
Wait; yet I do not tell youThe hour you long for now,Will not come with its radiance vanished,And a shadow upon its brow;Yet far through the misty future,With a crown of starry light,An hour of joy you know notIs winging her silent flight.
Pray; though the gift you ask forMay never comfort your fears,May never repay your pleading,Yet pray, and with hopeful tears;An answer, not that you long for,But diviner, will come one day,Your eyes are too dim to see it,Yet strive, and wait, and pray.
-a poem by Adelaide Anne Procter
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2 comments:
Did you know one of her poems (and a very good one at that!) encircles the ceiling in the u.s. library of congress?
That is where my love of Adelaide Procter's poetry started. She is a wonderful crafts(woman) of words!
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