INFLUENCE

We know not what mysterious power

Lies latent in our words and deeds,—

Sweet as the perfume of a flower,

Strong as the life that sleeps in seeds;

But something certainly survives

The passing of our fleeting lives.

A look, a pressure of the hand,

A sign of hope, a song of cheer,

May journey over sea and land,

Outliving many a sterile year,

To find at last the destined hour

When they shall leap to bud and flower.

We write, we print, then — nevermore

To be recalled — our thoughts take flight,

Like white-winged birds that leave the shore,

And scattering, lose themselves in light;

For good or ill those words may be

The arbiters of destiny.

Perchance some fervid plea may find

A heart to rise to its appeal;

Some statement rouse a dormant mind,

Or stir a spirit, quick to feel;

Nay, through some note of gentler tone

Even love may recognize its own.

Fain would I deem not wholly dead

The spoken words of former years,

And every printed page, when read,

A source of smiles, instead of tears;

That friends, whom I shall never see,

May, for a time, remember me.