Helen Hunt Jackson

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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, 1830August 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.

Sourced[edit]

  • When on the ground red apples lie
    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[edit]

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