Cicely Fox Smith
The Gift - Poem by Cicely Fox Smith
What have we to give
To one who stands
Waiting with open hands,
Mother of many sons in many lands?
Who holds o'er land and main
Her easeless, restless reign, -
Who oft hath called her own, and ne'er hath called in vain.
What is best to give
When comes her call?
Courage that fears no fall,
And brave-eyed youth that dreadeth not at all;
Hearts strong on hope to cling, -
Hope for what years may bring,
And service void of ease, and faith unquestioning.
What hath she to give, -
What last reward
For loyal heart and sword?
What crown of victory, what princely hoard?
Honour and strength and pride,
And toil with joy allied, -
Glory and hope and fame, for which her best have died.
Comments about The Gift by Cicely Fox Smith
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye