Sacra Poesis | ||
BIRTH-DAY WISHES.—TO MY FATHER.
Time with swift and steady wing
Speeds through life's enchanting spring,
Yet a few revolving years,
And summer's day of bloom appears;
Soon it dawns, too soon it fades,
And Autumn casts its mellow shades,
Till with feeble step and slow
Winter bares his hoary brow.
The strife is o'er, the gaol is won,
The chequer'd tale of life is done!
Speeds through life's enchanting spring,
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And summer's day of bloom appears;
Soon it dawns, too soon it fades,
And Autumn casts its mellow shades,
Till with feeble step and slow
Winter bares his hoary brow.
The strife is o'er, the gaol is won,
The chequer'd tale of life is done!
And fifty winters now have shed
Their snows, my father, on thy head;
I'd wish thee, be it God's good will,
Another fifty summers still.
But, dearest father, O whene'er
It pleases him to strike or spare,
May Faith enraptur'd pierce the gloom,
And guide thee conqueror thro' the tomb;
May Hope lift up her eyes and see
The bliss of brightest hue for thee:
And in thy heart may holy love
Anticipate the joys above!
Their snows, my father, on thy head;
I'd wish thee, be it God's good will,
Another fifty summers still.
But, dearest father, O whene'er
It pleases him to strike or spare,
May Faith enraptur'd pierce the gloom,
And guide thee conqueror thro' the tomb;
May Hope lift up her eyes and see
The bliss of brightest hue for thee:
And in thy heart may holy love
Anticipate the joys above!
Here too may that serene repose,
Which none, but he that feels it, knows,
And happiness, the precious gem
Which few possess, but all men claim;
With calm contentment in thy breast,
Hush every troubled thought to rest.
Which none, but he that feels it, knows,
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Which few possess, but all men claim;
With calm contentment in thy breast,
Hush every troubled thought to rest.
Long may'st thou live, and ever see
Thy early hopes and prayers for me
Answer'd, fulfill'd, exceeded, here,
In filial love, and filial fear.
Thy early hopes and prayers for me
Answer'd, fulfill'd, exceeded, here,
In filial love, and filial fear.
Sacra Poesis | ||