 | Poems by William W. Story |  |
139
A TESTAMENT.
Dear friend! if Death against my door
Be first to knock, and bid me rise,
What trivial things shall have the power
To bring the tears into your eyes.
You'll gaze upon each worthless thing
That once was mine, and with a sigh
You'll say, “Ah! we were happy then,
In the old days gone by.”
Be first to knock, and bid me rise,
What trivial things shall have the power
To bring the tears into your eyes.
You'll gaze upon each worthless thing
That once was mine, and with a sigh
You'll say, “Ah! we were happy then,
In the old days gone by.”
You'll look upon this blackened flute,
And say, “when he was young and gay,
And light of heart, and light of foot,
What sentimental airs he'd play.”
You'll think on those old serenades
You listened to with beaming eye,
And say, “Ah! we were happy then,
In the old days gone by.”
And say, “when he was young and gay,
And light of heart, and light of foot,
What sentimental airs he'd play.”
You'll think on those old serenades
You listened to with beaming eye,
140
In the old days gone by.”
You'll turn my old portfolio o'er,
Its rudest scraps you'll cherish then,
For they will have the magic power
To make me live to you again.
You'll travel o'er each pictured scene
That shall survive this hand and eye,
And say, “Ah! we were happy then,
In the old days gone by.”
Its rudest scraps you'll cherish then,
For they will have the magic power
To make me live to you again.
You'll travel o'er each pictured scene
That shall survive this hand and eye,
And say, “Ah! we were happy then,
In the old days gone by.”
You'll keep these tools so smoothly worn
With which I shape the facile clay,
And gaze upon them, half-forlorn,
Then lay them carefully away.
You'll say, “His hand could deftly shape,
None knew and valued him as I,
And ah! we were so happy then,
In the old days gone by.”
With which I shape the facile clay,
And gaze upon them, half-forlorn,
Then lay them carefully away.
You'll say, “His hand could deftly shape,
None knew and valued him as I,
And ah! we were so happy then,
In the old days gone by.”
141
These verses, spiritless and weak,
(Poor weeds that never came to flower,)
Of joyous times to you may speak,
May speak of many a bitter hour.
You'll read the records wrung by pain,
When Death and Grief stood weeping nigh,
And say, “Ah! we were wretched then,
In the old days gone by.”
(Poor weeds that never came to flower,)
Of joyous times to you may speak,
May speak of many a bitter hour.
You'll read the records wrung by pain,
When Death and Grief stood weeping nigh,
And say, “Ah! we were wretched then,
In the old days gone by.”
You'll kindly look on what I've done,
And say, “How earnestly he strove,
Not all in vain, nor all alone,—
I sought to help him with my love,
And if he failed, 'twas not from lack
Of heart and will, and purpose high,”—
And “Ah! we both were happy then,
In the old days gone by.”
And say, “How earnestly he strove,
Not all in vain, nor all alone,—
I sought to help him with my love,
And if he failed, 'twas not from lack
Of heart and will, and purpose high,”—
And “Ah! we both were happy then,
In the old days gone by.”
And after you have mourned awhile,
And Grief's deep rut hath worn away,
Recall my foolish jokes, and smile,
For I would have my memory gay;—
Think of me in my happiest mood,
And speak of me as I were nigh,
And feel that I am with you still,
As in the days gone by.
And Grief's deep rut hath worn away,
142
For I would have my memory gay;—
Think of me in my happiest mood,
And speak of me as I were nigh,
And feel that I am with you still,
As in the days gone by.
| Poems by William W. Story | |