NOT charity we ask, <br />Nor yet thy gift refuse; <br />Please thy light fancy with the easy task <br />Only to look and choose. <br /> <br />The little-heeded toy <br />That wins thy treasured gold <br />May be the dearest memory, holiest joy, <br />Of coming years untold. <br /> <br />Heaven rains on every heart, <br />But there its showers divide, <br />The drops of mercy choosing, as they part, <br />The dark or glowing side. <br /> <br />One kindly deed may turn <br />The fountain of thy soul <br />To love’s sweet day-star, that shall o’er thee burn <br />Long as its currents roll. <br /> <br />The pleasures thou hast planned,— <br />Where shall their memory be <br />When the white angel with the freezing hand <br />Shall sit and watch by thee? <br /> <br />Living, thou dost not live, <br />If mercy’s spring run dry; <br />What Heaven has lent thee wilt thou freely give, <br />Dying, thou shalt not die. <br /> <br />HE promised even so! <br />To thee his lips repeat,— <br />Behold, the tears that soothed thy sister’s woe <br />Have washed thy Master’s feet! <br /> <br />March 20, 1859.<br /><br />Oliver Wendell Holmes<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-promise-37/
