How beautiful the earth is still
To thee, how full of happiness!
How little fraught with real ill,
Or unreal phantoms of distress!
How spring can bring thee glory, yet,
And summer win thee to forget
December's sullen time!
Why dost thou hold the treasure fast
Of youth's delight, when youth is past,
And thou art near thy prime? –
When those who were thy own compeers,
Equals in fortune and in years,
Have seen their morning melt in tears,
To clouded, smileless day:
Blest, had they died untried and young,
Before their hearts went wandering wrong,
Poor slaves, subdued by passions strong,
A weak and helpless prey!
"Because, I hoped while they enjoyed, And, by fulfilment, hope destroyed:
As children hope, with trustful breast,
I waited bliss, and cherished rest.
A thoughtful spirit taught me, soon,
That we must long till life be done;
That every phase of earthly joy
Must always fade, and always cloy.
"This I foresaw, and would not chase
The fleeting treacheries;
But, with firm foot and tranquil face,
Held backward from that tempting race,
Gazed o'er the sands the waves efface,
To the enduring seas:
There cast my anchor of desire,
Deep in unknown eternity,
Nor ever let my spirit tire,
With looking for what is to be.
"It is hope's spell that glorifies,
Like youth, to my maturer eyes,
All Nature's million mysteries,
The fearful and the fair;
Hope soothes me in the griefs I know,
She lulls my pain for others' woe,
And makes me strong to undergo
What I am born to bear.
"Glad comforter! will I not brave,
Unawed, the darkness of the grave, —
Nay, smile to hear Death's billows rave,
Sustained, my guide, by thee?
The more unjust seems present fate,
The more my spirit swells elate,
Strong, in thy strength, to anticipate
Rewarding destiny!"
OUR course is onward, onward into light:
What though the darkness gathereth amain?
Yet to return or tarry both are vain.
How tarry, when around us is thick night?
Whither return? what flower yet ever might,
In days of gloom and cold and stormy rain,
Inclose itself in its green bud again,
Hiding from wrath of tempest out of sight?
Courage! we travel through a darksome cave,
But still, as nearer to the light we draw,
Fresh gales will reach us from the upper air,
And wholesome dews of heaven our foreheads
The darkness lighten more, till, full of awe,
We stand in the open sunshine
We live not in our moments or our years:
The present we fling from us like the rind
Of some sweet future, which we after find
Bitter to taste, or bind that in with fears,
And water it beforehand with our tears,
Vain tears for that which never may arrive: Meanwhile the joy whereby we ought to live, Neglected, or unheeded, disappears.
Wiser it were to welcome and make ours
Whate'er of good, though small, the present brings,
Kind greetings, sunshine, song of birds, and flowers,
With a child's pure delight in little things; And of the griefs unborn to rest secure,
Knowing that mercy ever will endure.
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