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A Charge - a poem by Herbert Trench

 

A Charge
Herbert Trench
 

If thou hast squander'd years to grave a gem 
Commission'd by thy absent Lord, and while 
'Tis incomplete, 
Others would bribe thy needy skill to them 
Dismiss them to the street! 

Should'st thou at last discover Beauty's grove, 
At last be panting on the fragrant verge, 
But in the track, 
Drunk with divine possession, thou meet Love 
Turn at her bidding back. 

When round thy ship in tempest Hell appears, 
And every spectre mutters up more dire 
To snatch control 
And loose to madness thy deep-kennell'd Fears
Then to the helm, O Soul! 

Last; if upon the cold green-mantling sea 
Thou cling, alone with Truth, to the last spar, 
Both castaway, 
And one must perish let it not be he 
Whom thou art sworn to obey! 

 


A Charge - a poem by Herbert Trench

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