Thoughts.
By Nora Pembroke (Margaret Moran Dixon McDougall)
I am glad when men of genius
Array a common thought,
In imperishable beauty
That it cannot be forgot.
The heart thoughts all bright and burnished
By high poetic art,
As sweet as the wood-bird's warble
Touching the very heart.
Have not I, poor workday mortal,
Some thoughts of living light,
In the spirit's inner chambers,
Moving with spirit might?
And they come in the fair spring time
Of heart and life and year,
When sweet Nature's wild rejoicings,
Draws votaries very near
To the heart of all that's lovely
On earth and in the sky;
Making audible the music
Of the inner melody.
Underlying all the sunshine,
Whispering through every breeze,
As it crests the ruffled ocean
Or sways the forest trees.
Bright thoughts that are heart prisoners
Vibrating on its chords,
For, alas! I have not genius
To bring them forth in words.
But full oft, like friendship's greeting
Upon life's weary way,
Do I meet in other's language
What I most wished to say.
To such words my bosom echoes,
I feel they are my own,
They bright echo of my day dreams,
That else were ever flown.
Ah to think, ye men of genius,
What joy your art affords,
Giving to the thoughts of millions
The dress of glowing words!
And a blessing on these words then
To bear them far and free;
That they glad the hearts of many
As they have gladdened me.