Page:The Poets and Poetry of the West.djvu/593

1850-(;0.] ELIZABETH 0. HOYT. 577 And does Time wait ? October stand at Autumn's gate ? Lo ! now her watch-fires on the hills Light the far vales ; the woods illume. A sudden radiance floods the air ; The skies a sudden glory wear ; In solemn pomp the heavens attend ; A moment, and the pag-eant's o'er, Where robed in royalty'of old, Goes down, in purple and in gold, The month that was, and is no more. " Is no more I " Our senses try it. Prove it false from bloom to core ; Where the festive word is spoken. Fruits are served, and bread is broken — There we meet it evermore. Better still, our souls deny it — Nature's sweetest lesson learning — As our footsteps, homeward turning. Find the rains of dim November, Cold and drear, begin to fall : And its beauty, we remember ; Light the fire, and shut the door ; Best of all, Hang up October on the wall. AN ODE FOR THE NEW YEAR. Now Time that made no haste, and lagged, and droned, Hath found new feet wherewith to climb the years ; And let who will go whining o'er the past. Join thou its march with cl^^ji's. Not that the Old unto the New is lost, As is not lost to bloom the seed of flowers — So let thy Past unto thy Future be, In all life's coming hours. From every failure which thy memory broods. Wring not alone the hot tears of regret ; But this, the calm and self-sustained re- solve, A higher mark to set. Let heart and will take counsel of the days. To lay strong hands upon whatever foe Would lure thy soul from conscious vir- tue's growth. And from thyself to know. In all thou plannest, give thy brother room ; Be his, or thine, success, have thou just pride ; Nor fear to find God's providence too small, If ye are side by side. Upon the front of every noble thought — Not dreaming to do, but doing the best — vSet thou a seal to make that thought a thing. And find in labor, rest. The Present's all before you. where to be Brave men and women for the good and ' true ; The battle of the world's great needs is always at your door — See that it wants not you. SONG OF THE REAPER. Men call me a Machine ! I'll show them What a Reaper is, and owes them — I, the timbered from the forest ; I, the sinewed from the mine ; BoM^t last of lapsing ages, I wiUpiow myself divine ; Show myself a peer — And the hour is near — 37