The Return of Youth. 137 Comes there not, through the silence, to thine ear A gentle rustling of the morning gales? A murmur, wafted from that glorious shore, Of streams that water banks forever fair, And voices of the loved ones gone before, More musical in that celestial air? SUBMISSION. THY will be done! I will not fear The stars of heaven are shining on, Though these frail eyes are dimmed with tears; And though the hopes of earth be gone, Yet are not ours the immortal years? Father! forgive the heart that clings, There shall no doubts disturb its trust, No sorrows dim celestial love; But these afflictions of the dust, Like shadows of the night, remove. WORK. THOU hast, midst Life's empty noises, All the mystery of Being Hath upon thy spirit pressed; Thoughts which, like the deluge-wanderer, Find no place of rest. From the doubt and darkness springing Early hath Life's mighty question And to thee an answer cometh From the earth and from the sky, And to thee the hills and waters, And the stars reply. But a soul-sufficing answer Not to ease and aimless quiet Earnest toil and strong endeavor And without, with tireless vigor, Steady heart, and weapon strong, In the power of truth assailing Every form of wrong. WORK. WHAT are we set on earth for? Say, to toil; And Death's mild curfew shall from work assoil. Take patience, labor, to their heart and hand, cheer, And God's grace fructify through thee to all. The least flower, with a brimming cup may stand. And share its dew-drop with another near. |