 | The harp and plow |  |
182
DOWN BY THE BROOK WHERE WILLOWS GREEN.
Down by the brook, where willows green
Spring to the zephyr and the sun;
Where the bright wavelets, glancing seen,
Eternal murmur as they run;—
I pause to ponder on their flow;
While forward swift the waters run,
Backward as swift will memory go
To days when life with me begun.
Spring to the zephyr and the sun;
Where the bright wavelets, glancing seen,
Eternal murmur as they run;—
I pause to ponder on their flow;
While forward swift the waters run,
Backward as swift will memory go
To days when life with me begun.
As dreamy music fills my ear,—
The voiceful hum of waters sweet,
The long, bright days again appear
That used my infant eyes to greet.
Companions of those golden hours
Rise from the past, and round me stand;
Long since they perished ‘like the flowers!’
Long since they sought the spirit land!
The voiceful hum of waters sweet,
The long, bright days again appear
That used my infant eyes to greet.
Companions of those golden hours
Rise from the past, and round me stand;
Long since they perished ‘like the flowers!’
Long since they sought the spirit land!
183
I love to think upon those days;
The early found, the early lost;
Aye memory sings her sweetest lays
When strung her lyre at dearest cost.
The cares of life the present fill,
They all engross, the heart, the hand;
But from the past, at times, there will
Break gleamings like the better land.
The early found, the early lost;
Aye memory sings her sweetest lays
When strung her lyre at dearest cost.
The cares of life the present fill,
They all engross, the heart, the hand;
But from the past, at times, there will
Break gleamings like the better land.
| The harp and plow | |