Godsends

NOT the windfall makes us rich,But the slowly ripened fruit,Full of sun-warmed nectar, whichDrops, a patient need to suit.

Mean is every bauble brought,Favor of the mean to buy.Offer us no gift unfraughtWith the largeness of the sky.

Offer but the breadth of love;Narrower boon is none at all.Search for us the deeps above;Not the soil where earth-worms crawl.

Give the glory of a flower;Radiant leaf-bough; blooming thorn;Light that seas and mountains shower;Rosy cheer of days new-born.

God sends what the true heart brings:Stranger or familiar hand,Priest among His holy things,Only bears the gift He planned.

And the best of all He sendsIs no measured dole, but love;Is not cumbering goods, but friends;Winged souls with ours to move.

Soon we tire of pleasure's toy;Flashes o'er us, while we grope,Glory of remoter joy;Beckoning of a larger hope:

Far as dreams, yet close at hand;Worlds unveiled in one soul's bound,—Riches of the sun-vaults grandAt your threshold may be found.

Learn the fools' gold to despise;Coinage of heaven's mint to knowIn the home-illuming eyes;In the fireside's quiet glow;

In the roof-tree's timid bud;Hues that near horizons wear;Planets your own sky that stud;Your own window's breath of air.

Naught but light from loftiest star;Naught than life more rare or new.All the real Godsends areCommon as the daily dew.