Classic Poem

FOR AN ALMS CHEST MADE OF CAMPHOR-WOOD

This fragrant box that breathes of India's balms
Hath one more fragrance,—for it asketh alms;
But though 't is sweet and blessed to receive,
You know who said, “It is more blest to give:”
Give, then, receive his blessing; and for me
Thy silent boon sufficient blessing be!

If Ceylon's isle, that bears the bleeding trees,
With any perfume load the orient breeze;
If Heber's Muse, by Ceylon as he sailed,
A pleasant odor from the shore inhaled,—
More lives in me; for underneath my lid
A sweetness as of sacrifice is hid.

Thou gentle almoner, in passing by,
Smell of my wood, and scan me with thine eye:
I, too, from Ceylon bear a spicy breath
That might put warmness in the lungs of death;
A simple chest of scented wood I seem;
But oh! within me lurks a golden beam,—

A beam celestial, and a silver din,
As though imprisoned angels played within;
Hushed in my heart, my fragrant secret dwells:
If thou wouldst learn it, Paul of Tarsus tells;
No jangled brass nor tinkling cymbal sound,
For in my bosom Charity is found.