Helen Hunt Jackson

Father, I scarcely dare to pray,
So clear I see, now it is done,
How I have wasted half my day,
And left my work but just begun.

Helen Maria (Fiske) Hunt Jackson (October 18, 1830 – August 12, 1885) was an American writer best known as the author of Ramona, a novel about the ill treatment of Native Americans in southern California.

Quotes

• When on the ground red apples lie there
  in piles like jewels shining
  And redder still on old stone walls
  Are leaves of woodbines twining
  • from October's Bright Blue Sky
• And every bird I ever knew
  Back and forth in the summer flew;
  And breezes wafted over me
  The scent of every flower and tree:
  Till I forgot the pain and gloom
  And silence of my darkened room
  • from Shadow of Birds
• All lost things are in the angels' keeping, Love;
  No past is dead for us, but only sleeping, Love.
  • At last.

• Like a blind spinner in the sun,
  I tread my days:
  I know that all the threads will run
  Appointed ways.
  I know each day will bring its task,
  And being blind no more I ask.
  • Spinning.

• On the king’s gate the moss grew gray;
  The king came not. They called him dead
  And made his eldest son one day
  Slave in his father’s stead.
  • Coronation.

• Father, I scarcely dare to pray,
  So clear I see, now it is done,
  How I have wasted half my day,
  And left my work but just begun.
  • A last Prayer.

• The voice of one who goes before, to make
  The paths of June more beautiful, is thine
  Sweet May!
  • May.

External links

• Helen Hunt Jackson page at Colorado College Special Collections
• "September" by Helen Hunt Jackson