Martha Dickinson Bianchi

Reality

These are my scales to weigh reality,—
A dream, a chord, a longing, love of Thee.
Real as the violets of April days,
Or those soft-hid in unfrequented ways;
Real as the noiseless tune to which we tread        
The measure we by life’s old song are led;
Real as man’s wonder what his soul may be,—
A guest for time or for eternity.
Real as the ocean, seen, alas! no more,
Whose tide still beats along my heart’s inshore.        
These are my scales to weigh reality,—
A chord, a dream, a longing, love of Thee!