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4
BIRTH-DAY VERSES.
FOR MY OWN, AT FIFTY-FIVE.
Birth-day verses! Never more
Can that era bring to me,
As it did in days of yore,
Visions bright of thoughtless glee.
When the child would be a boy;
When the boy, in heart elate,
Forward looked with eager joy
Unto wished-for man's estate:
Then was then! and now is now!
Young hopes, then, were all alive;
Such as beam not on the brow
Of reflecting Fifty-five!
Can that era bring to me,
As it did in days of yore,
Visions bright of thoughtless glee.
When the child would be a boy;
When the boy, in heart elate,
Forward looked with eager joy
Unto wished-for man's estate:
Then was then! and now is now!
Young hopes, then, were all alive;
Such as beam not on the brow
Of reflecting Fifty-five!
5
Am I hopeless, then? Oh no!
But for hope the heart were dead:
Still o'er mine, at times, the glow
Of a hopeful faith is shed:
Not in aught which earth can give,
Or that finds in time its stay;
But in things which can outlive
What these give, and take away.
Yet, 'gainst hope itself—TO hope;
Meekly to endure, and strive
With infirmities to cope :—
These are left to Fifty-five!
But for hope the heart were dead:
Still o'er mine, at times, the glow
Of a hopeful faith is shed:
Not in aught which earth can give,
Or that finds in time its stay;
But in things which can outlive
What these give, and take away.
Yet, 'gainst hope itself—TO hope;
Meekly to endure, and strive
With infirmities to cope :—
These are left to Fifty-five!
Still, as health and strength decline,
It is somewhat to be taught,
Richer boons may yet be mine,
With no vain repinings fraught.
Let the days of boyhood go,
Manhood's prouder projects cease,
If my spirit may but know
More of pure and perfect peace!
Where the treasure is—the heart
There its hoarded hopes will hive:
Teach me, Lord! that better part,
Even late as Fifty-five!
It is somewhat to be taught,
Richer boons may yet be mine,
With no vain repinings fraught.
Let the days of boyhood go,
Manhood's prouder projects cease,
If my spirit may but know
More of pure and perfect peace!
Where the treasure is—the heart
There its hoarded hopes will hive:
Teach me, Lord! that better part,
Even late as Fifty-five!
6
Tribulation patience works;
Patience doth experience teach;
And in such experience lurks
Hope—that high as heaven may reach!
These are not like flowers of Spring,
Which unfolded but to die;
Thoughts and feelings to them cling,
Linked with immortality:—
Glory! honour! thanks! and praise!
Aught of such should still survive:
Soul! thine Ebenezer raise,
Reverently, at Fifty-five!
Patience doth experience teach;
And in such experience lurks
Hope—that high as heaven may reach!
These are not like flowers of Spring,
Which unfolded but to die;
Thoughts and feelings to them cling,
Linked with immortality:—
Glory! honour! thanks! and praise!
Aught of such should still survive:
Soul! thine Ebenezer raise,
Reverently, at Fifty-five!
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