 | The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury |  |
THE PASSING YEAR.
It passes on, the fading year, with its dim and shadowy train,
Its vanished hours, and by-past days of pleasure and of pain;
It passes on, with solemn step, toward that shoreless sea
Whose tideless waters only stir to whelm mortality.
Its vanished hours, and by-past days of pleasure and of pain;
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Whose tideless waters only stir to whelm mortality.
It passes on; among the tombs its weary feet have trod,
Too often has its pathway led across the burial sod;
And many a melancholy eye that marks its swift decay
Is weeping o'er the cherished joys and hopes it bears away.
Too often has its pathway led across the burial sod;
And many a melancholy eye that marks its swift decay
Is weeping o'er the cherished joys and hopes it bears away.
It passes on; and shall it fade without one parting song
From one around whose sunny path unnumbered blessings throng?
What have I done to merit such exemption from the doom
That shrouds full many a worthier heart in sorrow's darkest gloom?
From one around whose sunny path unnumbered blessings throng?
What have I done to merit such exemption from the doom
That shrouds full many a worthier heart in sorrow's darkest gloom?
It passes on; and yet its steps crush not a single flower
That blossoms in my joyous way or cheers my quiet bower.
It passes on; and though its trace is left upon my brow,
Yet never was my spirit filled with deeper bliss than now.
That blossoms in my joyous way or cheers my quiet bower.
It passes on; and though its trace is left upon my brow,
Yet never was my spirit filled with deeper bliss than now.
It passes on; a few brief hours its last farewell will see;
Then let me breathe my heart's deep thoughts, my own best love, to thee.
Where shall I find the thrilling words which ought alone to tell
The grateful tenderness and love that in my bosom swell?
Then let me breathe my heart's deep thoughts, my own best love, to thee.
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The grateful tenderness and love that in my bosom swell?
Since thou first taught my youthful mind to know its latent powers,
Thy kindness, dearest one, has been the measure of my hours;
And not a single day has past without its precious store
Of gentle looks and words that made my cup of joy run o'er.
Thy kindness, dearest one, has been the measure of my hours;
And not a single day has past without its precious store
Of gentle looks and words that made my cup of joy run o'er.
It passes on; when last I watched the sunset of the year,
My heart, e'en while it thrilled with joy, shook with a sudden fear;
I dared not hope another year would see such blessings last;
Yet has another fleeted on, far happier than the last.
My heart, e'en while it thrilled with joy, shook with a sudden fear;
I dared not hope another year would see such blessings last;
Yet has another fleeted on, far happier than the last.
It passes on, the fading year, and leaves me at thy side,
Regarding thee with woman's love and more than woman's pride;
Would that affection's hidden thoughts upon thy life could shed
Such blessings, dear one, as thy care pours ever on my head!
Regarding thee with woman's love and more than woman's pride;
Would that affection's hidden thoughts upon thy life could shed
Such blessings, dear one, as thy care pours ever on my head!
| The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury | |