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The Past! We have forgotten it:
Its shadowy reign is o'er,
And like a folded mist hangs
O'er dim oblivion's shore;
The deeds of childhood's distant day,
Light words from youth that fell,
Unnumber'd thoughts of ripen'd years,
Who can their import tell?
Its shadowy reign is o'er,
And like a folded mist hangs
O'er dim oblivion's shore;
The deeds of childhood's distant day,
Light words from youth that fell,
Unnumber'd thoughts of ripen'd years,
Who can their import tell?
The Present, with its strong embrace,
Our prison'd heart detains,
The Future lures us blindfold on
By Hope's illusive chains:
But who to woo the hoary Past,
That old and wither'd crone,
Turns with a lover's ardent eye,
Or an enthusiast's tone?
Our prison'd heart detains,
The Future lures us blindfold on
By Hope's illusive chains:
But who to woo the hoary Past,
That old and wither'd crone,
Turns with a lover's ardent eye,
Or an enthusiast's tone?
Yet Heaven records, though we forget,
Each deed that shuns the light,
Each word that melted into air,
And hid from memory's sight;
The very thoughts that in their birth
Sank motionless and dead,
All have their impress on that page
Which at God's bar is read.
Each deed that shuns the light,
Each word that melted into air,
And hid from memory's sight;
The very thoughts that in their birth
Sank motionless and dead,
All have their impress on that page
Which at God's bar is read.
