And Other Poems.
91
Our dearest friends are here to-day—but, ere the morning, fly,
Like Mother dear and Amy, to the realms beyond the sky.”
Like Mother dear and Amy, to the realms beyond the sky.”
“My son, you should not murmur thus; the tide that laves the beach
Can rush along its measured pace, but further cannot reach;
And like unto it is the grasping intellect of man,
It searches to the gates of Heaven, but further cannot scan.
Then face the world bravely, boy, and let repining cease,—
Let honour be your compass, and your harbour will be peace;
Year after year may come and go, but Death, the tyrant, gains
No victory o’er the honest heart, where calm contentment reigns.”
Can rush along its measured pace, but further cannot reach;
And like unto it is the grasping intellect of man,
It searches to the gates of Heaven, but further cannot scan.
Then face the world bravely, boy, and let repining cease,—
Let honour be your compass, and your harbour will be peace;
Year after year may come and go, but Death, the tyrant, gains
No victory o’er the honest heart, where calm contentment reigns.”
