Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE CALL OF HAPPINESS, by CHARLES V. H. ROBERTS


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE CALL OF HAPPINESS, by                    
First Line: O happiness! Thy vision comes to me
Last Line: Will welcome us unto thy final sphere.
Subject(s): Happiness; Pleasure; Joy; Delight


O Happiness! thy vision comes to me
In kisses of Egyptian lavender;
Sung by mermaids on a silver sea,
In verses of the moon so calm and tender.
No one can doubt thy presence and thy meaning,
Resounding silken-smooth and blissful-teeming
O'er the world—joy-waves from pain redeeming.

I have met thee far away—wild sails of long
Ago. Thy masts were furled with creeds untrue,
When Grecian gods, the Muses, and thy worshippers in song
Dreamed naught lay there beyond eternal blue.
Prayer was then, in gold and silver wrought,
Thy heaven but an incense-stream of pleasure bought
In clouded wine,—sold in sensuous thought.

But thou hast sacked the ages of their madness,
And breathed beyond the tryst of heathen stars.
From Bethlehem thy messengers bring gladness—
Great tidings o'er this bitter world of ours.
Thou speakest then in strongest jubilation,
Thy joys fulfilled to highest consecration;
Thy one big tear—the Cross of Expiation.

O Happiness, thou hast no nobler gem than prayer,
That silent meditation of the soul,
When real things touch us vividly, and where
Thy rich accords and richest current roll
Outward to the shore of Paradise.
There, wafts no water but knows thine eyes,
Where sundered stars breathe only in thy sighs.

Thou art purest in the little child,
Caressing lovingly each new-bought toy;
Frail, floating innocence, yet wild
In laughter, song, merry-play and joy.
O to be a child again!—the Fairy Tales,
Old Santa Claus—those kindergarten days,
With chant from little primer—the dreams of tiny sails!

Thou art a limpid spirit on our wedding day,
To vanish with us on the wings of love.
That fairest flowering—Motherhood—thy way
That brings an angel for the God above.
Oh! grow thou then, amid the garden of our joys,
Make it sweet and holy for our children's plays,
Each tree and bower—each little petal, be their toys.

Be on our death-bed, Happiness, where the shadows lie;
And Faith becomes still more the garment of our soul.
Weave gently the ending of our life, and try
To comfort us in verses on the Scroll
That make us feel thy grandest prize is near.
Then thy ties, thy friendship, peace,—God Himself,
Will welcome us unto thy final sphere.





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