Page:Pocahontas and Other Poems (NY).pdf/153

Thou canst not think so many years have fled
Since those good times; and yet as silently
As the light snowflake glide our fleeting days,
And, while we dream their greenness still survives,
Amid the remnant of their wither'd pride
Our steps make sullen echo.
                                               But 'tis weak
To mourn the change that nature writes on man,
As heavenly wisdom dictates. Doth the sheaf
Look back regretful to its bursting germe?
Or the ripe fruit bemoan the fallen flower?
Why then should man lament his vanish'd morn?
The day of duty is the day of joy;
Of highest joy, such as the heavens do bless.
So keep perpetual summer in thy soul,
And take the spirit's smile along with thee,
Even to thy winding-sheet.
                                              Yon lowly roof,
Thou know'st it well, and yet it seems more low
Than it was wont to seem; for thou hast been
A visitant of loftier domes, and halls
Meet for the feet of princes. Ask thou not
For father or for mother, they who made
That humble home so beautiful to thee:
But go thy way, and show to some young heart
The same deep love, the same unchanging zeal
Of pure example, pointing to the skies
That nurtured thee. So shalt thou pay the debt
To nature's best affections and to God.