 | The Poetical Works of Reginald Heber |  |
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MAN'S PILGRIMAGE.
Oh for the morning gleam of youth, the half-unfolded flower,That sparkles in the diamond dew of that serener hour,
What time the broad and level sun shone gaily o'er the sea,
And in the woods the birds awoke to songs of ecstacy.
The sun, that gilds the middle arch of man's maturer day,
Smites heavy on the pilgrim's head, who plods his dusty way;
The birds are fled to deeper shades—the dewy flowers are dried,
And hope, that with the day was born, before the day has died;
For who can promise to his soul a tranquil eventide?
Yes—though the dew will gleam anew—though from its western sky,
The sun will give as mild a ray as morning could supply—
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Yet little will the ear of age enjoy her tender tale;
And night will find us toiling on with joyless travail worn,
For day must pass, and night must come, before another morn.
| The Poetical Works of Reginald Heber | |