TO DR. JACOB BIGELOW.
(ON HIS 89TH BIRTHDAY.)
O head that wears the kindly state
God grants to favored men!
Slight bowed beneath the reverend weight
Of fourscore years and ten;
O hand that worked with earnest might
The thoughtful brow's behest,
And hewed a path for truth and right
Where other feet might rest,—
God grants to favored men!
Slight bowed beneath the reverend weight
Of fourscore years and ten;
O hand that worked with earnest might
The thoughtful brow's behest,
And hewed a path for truth and right
Where other feet might rest,—
What wish is left for us to frame
That hope or pride hath known
Of love or trust or honest fame
But life hath made thine own?
Amid the wreaths our hearts entwine
We hide no withered leaves,
Where autumn suns serenely shine
Above thy ripened sheaves.
That hope or pride hath known
Of love or trust or honest fame
But life hath made thine own?
Amid the wreaths our hearts entwine
We hide no withered leaves,
Where autumn suns serenely shine
Above thy ripened sheaves.
All joy is thine that good life brings
To memory true and fond.
To memory true and fond.
