124
POEMS.
Mistrust not your sunshine! 'Twere better that youth
Should see not the tempest in each passing cloud;
Possess ye faith's shelter to serve ye at need,
And in storms of Time's bringing ye shall not be bowed.
And ye of earth's children whose tears track my path,
Whose summer hath passed ere its first fruits were reared,
Whose winter of age hath closed in with despair,
When there is not left one to the lone heart endeared;
Tis meet ye should welcome with faltering tone
The stern guest who sojourneth but to destroy.
Perchance hath Time's coming been looked for with hope,
And his touch but been marked by the blight of your joy;
Yet would ye revile him? In bearing away
Some loved flow'r from round ye, how oft hath he told
Of a yet fairer garden where still it might bloom,
And twine round your soul as it twined there of old!
Oh! there is the same golden sunlight for each,
Though Time may have darkened its lustre ere while;
There breathes not the heart that, 'mid misery's sighs,
Hath ne'er known the moment illumed by joy's smile.
Should see not the tempest in each passing cloud;
Possess ye faith's shelter to serve ye at need,
And in storms of Time's bringing ye shall not be bowed.
And ye of earth's children whose tears track my path,
Whose summer hath passed ere its first fruits were reared,
Whose winter of age hath closed in with despair,
When there is not left one to the lone heart endeared;
Tis meet ye should welcome with faltering tone
The stern guest who sojourneth but to destroy.
Perchance hath Time's coming been looked for with hope,
And his touch but been marked by the blight of your joy;
Yet would ye revile him? In bearing away
Some loved flow'r from round ye, how oft hath he told
Of a yet fairer garden where still it might bloom,
And twine round your soul as it twined there of old!
Oh! there is the same golden sunlight for each,
Though Time may have darkened its lustre ere while;
There breathes not the heart that, 'mid misery's sighs,
Hath ne'er known the moment illumed by joy's smile.
