Poem by Emily Jane Brontë

The Old Stoic

Riches I hold in light esteem;
And Love I laugh to scorn;
And lust of fame was but a dreem
That vanished with the morn.

And if I pray, the only prayer
That moves my lips for me
Is, 'Leave the heart that now I bear,
And give me liberty !'

Yes, as me swift days near their goal,
'Tis all that I implore;
In life and death, a chainless soul,
With courage to endure.

1. The Wind Was Rough Which Tore
2. I See Around Me Tombstones Grey
3. Yes, Holy Be Thy Resting Place
4. High Waving Heather 'Neath Stormy Blasts Bending
5. Often Rebuked, Yet Always Back Returning

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