MY VOCATION - Henry Louis Vivian Derozio Poems

 
 

Poems » henry louis vivian derozio » my vocation

MY VOCATION

A waif on this earth,
    Sick, ugly and small,
Contemned from my birth
    And rejected by all,
From my lips broke a cry,
    Such as anguish may wring,
Sing, -- said God in reply,
    Chant poor little thing.

By Wealth's coach besmeared
    With dirt in a shower,
Insulted and jeered
    By the minions of power,
Where -- oh where shall I fly?
    Who comfort will bring?
Sing, -- said God in reply,
    Chant poor little thing.

Life struck me with fright --
    Full of chances and pain,
So I hugged with delight
    The drudge's hard chain;
One must eat, -- yet I die,
    Like a bird with clipped wing,
Sing -- said God in reply,
    Chant poor little thing.

Love cheered for a while
    My morn with his ray,
But like a ripple or smile
    My youth passed away.
Now near Beauty I sigh,
    But fled is the spring!
Sing -- said God in reply,
    Chant poor little thing.

All men have a task,
    And to sing is my lot --
No meed from men I ask
    But one kindly thought.
My vocation is high --
    'Mid the glasses that ring,
Still -- still comes that reply,
    Chant poor little thing.