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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408980" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To Jim</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I gaze upon my son once more,<br>With eyes and heart that tire,<br>As solemnly he stands before<br>The screen drawn round the fire;<br>With hands behind clasped hand in hand,<br>Now loosely and now fast—<br>Just as his fathers used to stand<br>For generations past. <br>A fair and slight and childish form,<br>And big brown thoughtful eyes—<br>God help him! for a life of storm<br>And stress before him lies:<br>A wanderer and a gipsy wild,<br>I’ve learnt the world and know,<br>For I was such another child—<br>Ah, many years ago! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But in those dreamy eyes of him<br>There is no hint of doubt—<br>I wish that you could tell me, Jim,<br>The things you dream about.<br>Dream on, my son, that all is true<br>And things not what they seem—<br>’Twill be a bitter day for you<br>When wakened from your dream. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">You are a child of field and flood,<br>But with the gipsy strains<br>A strong Norwegian sailor’s blood<br>Is running through your veins.<br>Be true, and slander never stings,<br>Be straight, and all may frown—<br>You’ll have the strength to grapple things<br>That dragged your father down. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">These lines I write with bitter tears<br>And failing heart and hand,<br>But you will read in after years,<br>And you will understand:<br>You’ll hear the slander of the crowd,<br>They’ll whisper tales of shame,<br>But days will come when you’ll be proud<br>To bear your father’s name. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But oh! beware of bitterness<br>When you are wronged, my lad—<br>I wish I had the faith in men<br>And women that I had!<br>’Tis better far (for I have felt<br>The sadness in my song)<br>To trust all men and still be wronged<br>Than to trust none and wrong. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Be generous and still do good<br>And banish while you live<br>The spectre of ingratitude<br>That haunts the ones who give.<br>But if the crisis comes at length<br>That your future might be marred,<br>Strike hard, my son, with all your strength!<br>For your own self’s sake, strike hard!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Lawson">Henry Lawson</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408980" data-title="To Jim de Henry Lawson" data-description="I gaze upon my son once more,
With eyes and heart that tire,
As solemnly he stands before
The screen drawn round the fire;
With hands behind clasped hand in hand,
Now loosely and now fast—
Just as his fathers used to stand
For generations past. ..."></div>
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