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But time with its coldness effaces the charm;
The flowers are as fair, and the lakes are as bright,
But, alas! the young feelings, so lovely and warm,
No longer are there to inspire the delight;
And sorrows and cares, which young life never knew,
Come breathing their mist o'er the heart and the eye,
And we turn to the days which so rapidly flew,
With a throb of the heart, with a tear, and a sigh!
The flowers are as fair, and the lakes are as bright,
But, alas! the young feelings, so lovely and warm,
No longer are there to inspire the delight;
And sorrows and cares, which young life never knew,
Come breathing their mist o'er the heart and the eye,
And we turn to the days which so rapidly flew,
With a throb of the heart, with a tear, and a sigh!
PERFECTION.
Perfection is from effort. Noblest deeds,
And faculties accomplished to their ends,
And tempered powers, and thoughts attuned like chords,
To all earth's harmonies, to draw sweet music
Even from discordant things,and blend the whole
In one celestial strain,—this is not done
Like the light sweeping of a full-toned lyre.
And faculties accomplished to their ends,
And tempered powers, and thoughts attuned like chords,
To all earth's harmonies, to draw sweet music
Even from discordant things,and blend the whole
In one celestial strain,—this is not done
Like the light sweeping of a full-toned lyre.
