 | Miscellaneous Poems |  |
187
Declining Days
‘Quodsi vita est optanda sapienti, profecto nullam aliam ob
causam vivere optaverim, quam ut aliquid efficiam, quod vita
dignum sit; et quod utilitatem legentibus, etsi non ad eloquentiam,
quia tenuis in nobis eloquentiæ rivus est, ad vivendum tamen
adferat: quod est maxime necessarium. Quo profecto, satis me
vixisse arbitrabor, et officium hominis implesse, si labor meus
aliquos homines ab erroribus liberatos, ad iter cœleste direxerit.’—
Lactantius, De Opif. Dei, cap. xx.
Why do I sigh to find
Life's evening shadows gathering round my way?
The keen eye dimming, and the buoyant mind
Unhinging day by day?
Life's evening shadows gathering round my way?
The keen eye dimming, and the buoyant mind
Unhinging day by day?
Is it the natural dread
Of that stern lot, which all who live must see?
The worm, the clay, the dark and narrow bed,—
Have these such awe for me?
Of that stern lot, which all who live must see?
The worm, the clay, the dark and narrow bed,—
Have these such awe for me?
188
Can I not summon pride
To fold my decent mantle round my breast;
And lay me down at nature's Eventide,
Calm to my dreamless rest?
To fold my decent mantle round my breast;
And lay me down at nature's Eventide,
Calm to my dreamless rest?
As nears my soul the verge
Of this dim continent of woe and crime,
Shrinks she to hear Eternity's long surge
Break on the shores of Time?
Of this dim continent of woe and crime,
Shrinks she to hear Eternity's long surge
Break on the shores of Time?
Asks she, how she shall fare
When conscience stands before the Judge's throne,
And gives her record in, and all shall there
Know, as they all are known?
When conscience stands before the Judge's throne,
And gives her record in, and all shall there
Know, as they all are known?
A solemn scene and time—
And well may Nature quail to feel them near—
But grace in feeble breasts can work sublime,
And faith o'ermaster fear!
And well may Nature quail to feel them near—
But grace in feeble breasts can work sublime,
And faith o'ermaster fear!
189
Hark! from that throne comes down
A voice which strength to sinking souls can give,
That voice all Judgment's thunders cannot drown;
‘Believe,’ it cries, ‘and live.’
A voice which strength to sinking souls can give,
That voice all Judgment's thunders cannot drown;
‘Believe,’ it cries, ‘and live.’
Weak—sinful, as I am,
That still small voice forbids me to despond;
Faith clings for refuge to the bleeding Lamb,
Nor dreads the gloom beyond.—
That still small voice forbids me to despond;
Faith clings for refuge to the bleeding Lamb,
Nor dreads the gloom beyond.—
'Tis not, then, earth's delights
From which my spirit feels so loath to part;
Nor the dim future's solemn sounds or sights
That press so on my heart.
From which my spirit feels so loath to part;
Nor the dim future's solemn sounds or sights
That press so on my heart.
No! 'tis the thought that I—
My lamp so low, my sun so nearly set,
Have lived so useless, so unmissed should die:—
'Tis this, I now regret.—
My lamp so low, my sun so nearly set,
Have lived so useless, so unmissed should die:—
'Tis this, I now regret.—
190
I would not be the wave
That swells and ripples up to yonder shore;
That drives impulsive on, the wild wind's slave,
And breaks, and is no more!—
That swells and ripples up to yonder shore;
That drives impulsive on, the wild wind's slave,
And breaks, and is no more!—
I would not be the breeze,
That murmurs by me in its viewless play,
Bends the light grass, and flutters in the trees,
And sighs and flits away!
That murmurs by me in its viewless play,
Bends the light grass, and flutters in the trees,
And sighs and flits away!
No! not like wave or wind
Be my career across the earthly scene;
To come and go, and leave no trace behind
To say that I have been.
Be my career across the earthly scene;
To come and go, and leave no trace behind
To say that I have been.
I want not vulgar fame—
I seek not to survive in brass or stone;
Hearts may not kindle when they hear my name,
Nor tears my value own.—
I seek not to survive in brass or stone;
Hearts may not kindle when they hear my name,
Nor tears my value own.—
191
But might I leave behind
Some blessing for my fellows, some fair trust
To guide, to cheer, to elevate my kind
When I was in the dust.
Some blessing for my fellows, some fair trust
To guide, to cheer, to elevate my kind
When I was in the dust.
Within my narrow bed
Might I not wholly mute or useless be;
But hope that they, who trampled o'er my head,
Drew still some good from me!
Might I not wholly mute or useless be;
But hope that they, who trampled o'er my head,
Drew still some good from me!
Might my poor lyre but give
Some simple strain, some spirit-moving lay;
Some sparklet of the Soul, that still might live
When I was passed to clay!—
Some simple strain, some spirit-moving lay;
Some sparklet of the Soul, that still might live
When I was passed to clay!—
Might verse of mine inspire
One virtuous aim, one high resolve impart;
Light in one drooping soul a hallow'd fire,
Or bind one broken heart.—
One virtuous aim, one high resolve impart;
Light in one drooping soul a hallow'd fire,
Or bind one broken heart.—
192
Death would be sweeter then,
More calm my slumber 'neath the silent sod;
Might I thus live to bless my fellow-men,
Or glorify my God!
More calm my slumber 'neath the silent sod;
Might I thus live to bless my fellow-men,
Or glorify my God!
Why do we ever lose,
As judgment ripens, our diviner powers?
Why do we only learn our gifts to use
When they no more are ours?
As judgment ripens, our diviner powers?
Why do we only learn our gifts to use
When they no more are ours?
O Thou! whose touch can lend
Life to the dead, Thy quick'ning grace supply,
And grant me, swanlike, my last breath to spend
In song that may not die!
Life to the dead, Thy quick'ning grace supply,
And grant me, swanlike, my last breath to spend
In song that may not die!
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