Tho' a many Winters whiten, When I met you, Sweet, a-Maying, BABE CHRISTABEL. In this dim world of clouding cares, And thou hast stolen a jewel, Death! Thro' tears it gleams perpetually, And glitters thro' the thickest glooms, Till the eternal morning comes To light us o'er the Jasper Sea. With our best branch in tenderest leaf, We've strewn the way our Lord doth come; And, ready for the harvest-home, His Reapers bind our ripest sheaf. Our beautiful Bird of light hath fled: And white-winged Angels nurture her; With heaven's white radiance robed and crown'd, And all Love's purple glory round, She summers on the Hills of Myrrh. Thro' Childhood's morning-land serene Her better Angel walkt unseen, Till Life's highway broke bleak and wild; Her wave of life hath backward roll'd To the great ocean, on whose shore We wander up and down, to store Some treasures of the times of old: And aye we seek and hunger on For precious pearls and relics rare, Strewn on the sands for us to wear At heart, for love of her that's gone. O weep no more! there yet is balm God's ichor fills the hearts that bleed; The best fruit loads the broken bough; And in the wounds our sufferings plough, Immortal Love sows sovereign seed. Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods, And day by day the dead leaves fall and melt, And night by night the monitory blast Wails in the key-hole, telling how it pass'd O'er empty fields, or upland solitudes, Or grim wide wave; and now the power is felt Of melancholy, tenderer in its moods Than any joy indulgent summer dealt. Poor Earth, where we were wont to live and grieve. MACKAY. YOUTH AND SORROW. "GET thee back, Sorrow, get thee back! "O foolish Youth, to scorn thy friend! "Get thee back, Sorrow, get thee back! "Good friend, thou needest sage advice; I'll keep thy heart from growing proud, I'll fill thy mind with kindly thoughts, And link thy pity to the crowd. Wouldst have a heart of pulseless stone? "Get thee back, Sorrow, get thee back! Why tarnish it to soul and sense? "O foolish Youth, thou know'st me not; To thy eternal gain with God." "Get thee back, Sorrow, get thee back! No fruit can ripen in the dark, No bud can bloom in constant cold So, prithee, Sorrow, miss thy mark, Or strike me not till I am old." "I am thy friend, thy best of friends; |