Lines in Pleasant Places Rhythmics of many moods and quantities. Wise and otherwise |
 |
A RHYME OF FIVE-AND-TWENTY YEARS.
|
 |
|
|
|
 | Lines in Pleasant Places |  |
109
A RHYME OF FIVE-AND-TWENTY YEARS.
“By cool Siloam's shady rill,”
As cool as wintry airs can make,
We come, our empty cups to fill,
And drink, our thirstiness to slake—
Recalling, as we gather round,
A pilgrimage of smiles and tears,
To-day's prosperity has crowned,
The end of five-and-twenty years.
As cool as wintry airs can make,
We come, our empty cups to fill,
And drink, our thirstiness to slake—
Recalling, as we gather round,
A pilgrimage of smiles and tears,
To-day's prosperity has crowned,
The end of five-and-twenty years.
Our hearts with love renewed beat high,
And yield responsive to the hour;
All undisturbed our evening sky,
Beneath the influence of its power;
Though cold the air, and hurtling snow,
Without, the shivering flesh assail,
Here, in the light of long ago,
We bid defiance to the gale.
And yield responsive to the hour;
All undisturbed our evening sky,
Beneath the influence of its power;
Though cold the air, and hurtling snow,
Without, the shivering flesh assail,
Here, in the light of long ago,
We bid defiance to the gale.
O, Friendship, Love, and Truth, how sweet!
The pleasant song that first ye sung—
Of life with mirth and joy replete,
And flowers to cheer our path along;
But, better far than halcyon hours,
The many trials that we knew,
Developing our better powers
In airs beneficent and true.
The pleasant song that first ye sung—
110
And flowers to cheer our path along;
But, better far than halcyon hours,
The many trials that we knew,
Developing our better powers
In airs beneficent and true.
We are not angels—this we've found—
The merely human can we claim;
But there is music in the sound
That syllables a brother's name!
We love him for his faults—our own—
His virtue more than ours appears;
We've tried him by the testing-stone
Of five-and-twenty searching years.
The merely human can we claim;
But there is music in the sound
That syllables a brother's name!
We love him for his faults—our own—
His virtue more than ours appears;
We've tried him by the testing-stone
Of five-and-twenty searching years.
'Tis good for us to pause a while,
And glance along the course we've sped:
At joys that we recall to smile,—
To yield a tribute to our dead.
O, many are the mounds revealed,
Between the present and the past,
Of those whose fate was early sealed,
And those who later felt the blast!
And glance along the course we've sped:
At joys that we recall to smile,—
To yield a tribute to our dead.
O, many are the mounds revealed,
Between the present and the past,
Of those whose fate was early sealed,
And those who later felt the blast!
In tender trust they're treasured still;
And memory, with its verdant wreath,
Imparts to us to-night a thrill
For those, the loved, who rest beneath.
In sweetest peacefulness they rest,
Their task achieved, their labor o'er;
O, may the wish inspire each breast
To meet them on the shining shore!
And memory, with its verdant wreath,
Imparts to us to-night a thrill
For those, the loved, who rest beneath.
In sweetest peacefulness they rest,
Their task achieved, their labor o'er;
111
To meet them on the shining shore!
It is no sad refrain I sing—
I'll have no faces long to-night;
Let the glad hours with pleasure wing,
And mirth and music give delight.
No troubled thought should enter here,
To mar the present's festive glow,
Though things unlike to those appear
Of five-and-twenty years ago.
I'll have no faces long to-night;
Let the glad hours with pleasure wing,
And mirth and music give delight.
No troubled thought should enter here,
To mar the present's festive glow,
Though things unlike to those appear
Of five-and-twenty years ago.
Is that my friend of early youth,
Who with me in the race set out—
His mouth without a single tooth,
His body adipose and stout?
And he, as bald as any plate,
Can that be my young friend of eld?
Time's lightning sure has struck his pate,
And scorched off all the wealth it held!
Who with me in the race set out—
His mouth without a single tooth,
His body adipose and stout?
And he, as bald as any plate,
Can that be my young friend of eld?
Time's lightning sure has struck his pate,
And scorched off all the wealth it held!
And there is one of manly mould,
Without a hair inclined to gray,
Who must be—let me see—how old?
Full sixty years, if he's a day.
How is it he, with all his years,
The ravages of Time defies?—
The while I gaze the truth appears:
Like Kirby, in the play, HE DYES!
Without a hair inclined to gray,
Who must be—let me see—how old?
Full sixty years, if he's a day.
How is it he, with all his years,
The ravages of Time defies?—
The while I gaze the truth appears:
Like Kirby, in the play, HE DYES!
I knew a tender youngster then—
A boy of unpretending years,
Scarce venturing 'mid the ranks of men,
So full of bashfulness and fears.
I see him here, I think, to-night,
A citizen of good estate,
With wife and daughters fresh and bright,
Himself a very heavy weight.
A boy of unpretending years,
112
So full of bashfulness and fears.
I see him here, I think, to-night,
A citizen of good estate,
With wife and daughters fresh and bright,
Himself a very heavy weight.
And there was one of feeble mould,
Quite far from strong, and slim and pale;
He was so thin he wouldn't hold—
I've seen him try—a glass of ale!
I see him days about the town,
A portly man with ruddy face;
'Tis said to Windship's he'll go down,
And lift his ton without grimace.
Quite far from strong, and slim and pale;
He was so thin he wouldn't hold—
I've seen him try—a glass of ale!
I see him days about the town,
A portly man with ruddy face;
'Tis said to Windship's he'll go down,
And lift his ton without grimace.
And some in homeliness remain,
As on the day we first set out;
Old time has tackled them in vain,
And little change has brought about;
But though thus forced to let them go,
On better looking folks to wait,
Around their eyes the crows' feet show—
I see a stooping in their gait.
As on the day we first set out;
Old time has tackled them in vain,
And little change has brought about;
But though thus forced to let them go,
On better looking folks to wait,
Around their eyes the crows' feet show—
I see a stooping in their gait.
Though barred our doors to stranger feet,
Hymen our guardian has passed,
And spread his meshes strong and sweet,
Binding us victims hard and fast.
Yet glad the bond that we have known;
It is the girdle of our joys,
Circling our hearth-stones like a zone,
Gemmed with a wealth of girls and boys.
Hymen our guardian has passed,
And spread his meshes strong and sweet,
Binding us victims hard and fast.
Yet glad the bond that we have known;
It is the girdle of our joys,
113
Gemmed with a wealth of girls and boys.
Yet there are some, I'm grieved to say,
Who would not yield to love the power,
But drifted in their single way,
From then, down to the present hour.
Alone! ah, sad the word—alone!
To them the future dark appears;
But yet the fault is all their own—
A sin of five-and-twenty years.
Who would not yield to love the power,
But drifted in their single way,
From then, down to the present hour.
Alone! ah, sad the word—alone!
To them the future dark appears;
But yet the fault is all their own—
A sin of five-and-twenty years.
Ah, gallant youth! ah, gentle maids!
A quarter century goes by:
Care pays no great respect to braids;
It dims the brightness of the eye:
We see the changing of the tress,
We see the changing of the form,
But still unchanging, ne'ertheless,
The loving heart is true and warm—
A quarter century goes by:
Care pays no great respect to braids;
It dims the brightness of the eye:
We see the changing of the tress,
We see the changing of the form,
But still unchanging, ne'ertheless,
The loving heart is true and warm—
Surviving all the grace of earth,
And glowing with a warmth as true
As when, in youth's bright hour of mirth,
It gave itself to me and you!
And here, renewing and renewed,
In radiant eyes, and teeth like pearls,
We see restored in plenitude,
The mothers in their beauteous girls.
And glowing with a warmth as true
As when, in youth's bright hour of mirth,
It gave itself to me and you!
And here, renewing and renewed,
In radiant eyes, and teeth like pearls,
We see restored in plenitude,
The mothers in their beauteous girls.
Ho! brethren of the frosty pow!
Gone are the raven locks of old,
And wrinkles on each manly brow
May now in multitudes be told.
But what of that? The heart is gay,
Although the head is changed to snow;
We cannot keep it always May—
The Autumn must succeed, you know.
Gone are the raven locks of old,
114
May now in multitudes be told.
But what of that? The heart is gay,
Although the head is changed to snow;
We cannot keep it always May—
The Autumn must succeed, you know.
May ours a garner prove of peace,
And Nature's slow descending sun
Show that, as earthly hours decrease,
A higher life may have begun—
Trending towards that province bright,
The soul in its foreknowing sees,
Where, in the rare supernal light
Are gained the heavenly degrees.
And Nature's slow descending sun
Show that, as earthly hours decrease,
A higher life may have begun—
Trending towards that province bright,
The soul in its foreknowing sees,
Where, in the rare supernal light
Are gained the heavenly degrees.
O friends, take heart—we're ripening fast,
And Heaven alone our fates doth hold:
We know not how our lot is cast,
Till Time—how long?—the fact has told.
But long or short, no matter now;
We have no room for doubts nor fears,
To the same power our hearts we bow,
That's kept us five-and-twenty years.
And Heaven alone our fates doth hold:
We know not how our lot is cast,
Till Time—how long?—the fact has told.
But long or short, no matter now;
We have no room for doubts nor fears,
To the same power our hearts we bow,
That's kept us five-and-twenty years.
| Lines in Pleasant Places | |