Page:The Poets and Poetry of the West.djvu/414

I'd like to climb the apple-tree,
 Where once the spicy sweeting grew;
Make grape-vine swings, and have a glee;
 But I am fifty—'twouldn't do.

I'd like to go a nutting now,
 And gather violets in the glen;
And wreathe the wild flowers round my brow,
 As well as e'er I did at ten.

I'd like a slide upon the pond—
 To watch the old mill struggling there
In icy chains, while all beyond
 Was one broad mirror, cold and glare.

I'd like to see the noisy school,
 Let out a-nooning, as of old—
Play "Lost my glove," and "Mind the rule."
 My heart throbs quick—it is not cold.

I'm fifty—but I am not sad—
 I see no gloom in ripening years;
My hopes are bright, my spirit glad—
 How vain were all my childish fears!

My childish sports, I loved them then;
 I love to think them over still—
To shut my eyes and dream again
 Of silvery stream, and woodland hill.
But life has pleasures holier still
 Than childhood's play, with all its zest.
That, as we journey down the hill,
 Makes each succeeding year the best.

There're stalwart men beside my hearth,
 And "bonny lasses" laughing free,
That had not lived on this good earth.
To love and labor, but for me;
 And shall I pine for childhood joys,
For woodland walks, and violets blue,
 While round me merry girls and boys
Are doing what I used to do?

My days of toil, my years of care.
 Have never chilled my spirit's flow,
Or made one flower of life less fair
 Than in the spring-time, long ago.
The paths I've trod were sometimes rough,
 And sharp and piercing to my feet ;
Yet there were daisied walks enough
 To make it all seem smooth and sweet.

Friends that I loved have passed from
sight
 Before me, to the spirit home ;
But in the day that knows no night,
 I know they'll greet me when I come.
Hopes that I've cherished, too, were vain ;
 But I have lived to feel and know,
That, were life to live o'er again,
 'Twere better that it should be so.

At every winding of the way,
 I've sought for love, and love have given;
For love can cheer the darkest day.
 And make the poorest home a heaven.

Oh! ye, who're passing down, like me,
 Life's autumn side, be brave and strong,
And teach the lisper at your knee,
 That fifty years is not so long —
That if they would be ever young.
 And free from dolorous pain and care,
The life-harp must be ever strung
 With love of duty, every where.

As violins, in foreign lands,
 Broken and shattei'ed o'er and o'er,
When mended, and in skillful hands,
 Make sweeter music than before.
So, oft the heart, by sorrow torn.
 Gives forth a loftier, clearer song.
Than that which greeted us at morn.
 When it was new, and brave, and strong.

Father, I thank thee for them all,
 These fifty years which now are past;
Oh! guide me, guard me, till the fall
 Of death my form shall hide at last.
Let me, in love and kindness, still
 Live on, nor e'er grow hard and cold;
Bend me, and break me to thy will,
 But may my spirit ne'er grow old.