HIS hand at last! By his own fingers writ, I catch my name upon the wayworn sheet: His hand -- oh, reach it to me quick! And yet, Scarce can I hold, so fast my pulses beat. O fest of soul! O banquet richly spread! O passion-lettered scroll from o'er the sea! Like a fresh burst of life to one long dead, Joy, strength, and bright content come back with thee, Long prayed and waited for through months so drear; Each day methought my waiting heart must break; Why is it that our loved ones grow more dear The more we suffer for their sweetest sake? His hand at last! each simple word aglow With truthful tenderness and promise sweet. Now to my daily tasks I'll singing go, Fed by the music of this wayworn sheet. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WENDELL PHILLIPS by AMOS BRONSON ALCOTT THE CONVENT THRESHOLD by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI NUPTIAL SONG by JOHN BYRNE LEICESTER WARREN SONNET TO HOPE by HELEN MARIA WILLIAMS NIGHTFALL by FLORENCE ASHLEY BELLER WILLIAM COWPER by WILLIAM BLAKE |