Poem: The Book of Memory

Written for the Sentinel.

The Book of Memory
By Letson.

There is a book which none can read,
Save him by whom it is possessed.
A wonderous volume ‘tis indeed,
That’s written in each human breast!

Could we but turn its pages o’er,
And scan the lines on each engraved;
And read the trials, troubles sore,
And thoughts by which the mand’s enslaved;

The traces left by Passion deep;
The lines by Folly’s finger traced;
Where Hope so bright, that never sleeps,
Has many thrillling chapters graced;

And see where Conscience, stearn and true,
Has written warnings, broad and clear,
(A voice that’s listened to by few,)
Which caused the wayward soul to fear;

And view the page which Love did write,
The joys and fears thereon contained;
And read of Hymen’s sweet delight,
When he in regal triumph reighed;

Then scan the many pictures fair,
By Mercy and Benevolence drawn;–
The brightest, sweetest traces ere
Were painted the pure soul upon;–

Oh! could we view, each line, each word,
Each thought, each deed, as there portrayed,–
And all the soul has seen and heard,
Well might we start and be dismayed!

– Published in The Union Sentinel, Osceola, Iowa, January, 31, 1863