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John Greenleaf Whittier - A NameJohn Greenleaf Whittier - A Name
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The name the Gallic exile bore, St. Malo! from thy ancient mart, Became upon our Western shore Greenleaf for Feuillevert. A name to hear in soft accord Of leaves by light winds overrun, Or read, upon the greening sward Of May, in shade and sun. The name my infant ear first heard Breathed softly with a mother`s kiss; His mother`s own, no tenderer word My father spake than this. No child have I to bear it on; Be thou its keeper; let it take From gifts well used and duty done New beauty for thy sake. The fair ideals that outran My halting footsteps seek and find-- The flawless symmetry of man, The poise of heart and mind. Stand firmly where I felt the sway Of every wing that fancy flew, See clearly where I groped my way, Nor real from seeming knew. And wisely choose, and bravely hold Thy faith unswerved by cross or crown, Like the stout Huguenot of old Whose name to thee comes down. As Marot`s songs made glad the heart Of that lone exile, haply mine May in life`s heavy hours impart Some strength and hope to thine. Yet when did Age transfer to Youth The hard-gained lessons of its day? Each lip must learn the taste of truth, Each foot must feel its way. We cannot hold the hands of choice That touch or shun life`s fateful keys; The whisper of the inward voice Is more than homilies. Dear boy! for whom the flowers are born, Stars shine, and happy song-birds sing, What can my evening give to morn, My winter to thy spring! A life not void of pure intent, With small desert of praise or blame, The love I felt, the good I meant, I leave thee with my name.
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