 | Poems of home and country |  |
97
NOT YET THE FROST OF AGE.
HARVARD CLASS OF '29.
Not yet the frost of age,
Nor ardent summer's rage,
Nor history's burdened page
Has chilled or scorched the friendships of our youth;
Nor with a “finis” ended,
Life's stories, vaguely blended,
Which years have comprehended,
Are closed and bound and sealed with changeless truth!
Nor ardent summer's rage,
Nor history's burdened page
Has chilled or scorched the friendships of our youth;
Nor with a “finis” ended,
Life's stories, vaguely blended,
Which years have comprehended,
Are closed and bound and sealed with changeless truth!
Like seamen, when they tack,
Our eyes look gravely back
Along the lengthening track,
Far to our sunny morn and booming spring;
When with our sails inflated,
Time's mingled cup untasted,
On the fair verge we waited,
And gazed intent, to see what life would bring.
Our eyes look gravely back
Along the lengthening track,
Far to our sunny morn and booming spring;
When with our sails inflated,
Time's mingled cup untasted,
On the fair verge we waited,
And gazed intent, to see what life would bring.
From old companions parted,
The dear and noble-hearted,
With whom the race we started,—
Like weary steeds, we watch the setting sun;
Climbed are the heights we sought,
Our manhood's deeds are wrought,
Our battles sternly fought,
Favored by God's good grace, and victory won.
The dear and noble-hearted,
With whom the race we started,—
Like weary steeds, we watch the setting sun;
Climbed are the heights we sought,
Our manhood's deeds are wrought,
Our battles sternly fought,
Favored by God's good grace, and victory won.
98
Yet that old fervor burns,
Still the young blood returns,
Just as the summer ferns
Are green and strong till falls the autumn blast;
So to the clouds of even,
Grouped in the glittering heaven,
Ever new glow is given,
And never are they brighter than at last.
Still the young blood returns,
Just as the summer ferns
Are green and strong till falls the autumn blast;
So to the clouds of even,
Grouped in the glittering heaven,
Ever new glow is given,
And never are they brighter than at last.
The dropping sands still fall;
From heaven new voices call;
We claim them each and all,—
The starred that shone, the unstarred names that shine.
Oh, fewer still, and fewer,
But never, never truer,
Just as when life was newer,—
God keep the unstarred names of “twenty-nine!”
From heaven new voices call;
We claim them each and all,—
The starred that shone, the unstarred names that shine.
Oh, fewer still, and fewer,
But never, never truer,
Just as when life was newer,—
God keep the unstarred names of “twenty-nine!”
At Parker's, Boston, January 10, 1884.
| Poems of home and country | |