POEMS.
125
But thorny life's pathway, or bordered with flowers,
It leads where earth's pleasures and pains must be o'er;
Age's tottering tread and the light step of youth,
Are passing there now to return never more!
'Tis a land where love's blossoms ne'er bend to the blight,
Where they grow for the lonely who find them not here;
Where the cold hand of Time cannot reach to destroy;
His wing cannot darken its skies ever clear.
Though he planted ye sorrow, in tearing away
Your loved flow'rs from round ye, forget not he told
Of a yet fairer garden where still they might bloom,
And twine round your soul as they twined there of old!
R. A.
It leads where earth's pleasures and pains must be o'er;
Age's tottering tread and the light step of youth,
Are passing there now to return never more!
'Tis a land where love's blossoms ne'er bend to the blight,
Where they grow for the lonely who find them not here;
Where the cold hand of Time cannot reach to destroy;
His wing cannot darken its skies ever clear.
Though he planted ye sorrow, in tearing away
Your loved flow'rs from round ye, forget not he told
Of a yet fairer garden where still they might bloom,
And twine round your soul as they twined there of old!
R. A.
