And on fields that never wither, We have met, and time is flying, HE will aid us, though existence YESTERDAY. AND where are now thy sunny hours, Stirred thy rapt soul with bliss the while. And where are they?- the swelling tide Is strewn with wrecks of baffled pride, It may be that thy heart was sad That on the waste of years, was seen On which the thoughtful eye could rest. What recks it now, that then a cloud Then what is Yesterday? - a breath, Colored by man's fond sympathies! Its fears but they are now no more; Its hopes- but they were quickly flown: Its pure delights and they are o'er! Look ye not back- -save but to glean The thought, that time is flying fast; Oh, what is Yesterday? -a ray Which burst on Being's troubled wave; Which passed like a swift thought away Unto Eternity's wide grave; A star whose light hath left the sky- To-day! How in its little span, Åre crowded with their awful weight! Its hopes of heaven may blossom there! THE NAMELESS GRAVE. 'T is a calm spot in Summer's hour and in the dawn of Spring, While buds come up, like freshening thoughts when Youth is on the wing: Here, while the unfolding gates of Day, are opening free and wide, And glory robes the landscape round, in an unsullied pride; While the amber clouds that gem the West are melting in the sun; And, lessening in his radiant smile, through the far ether run: Here, where beneath the sanctity of the bright azure sky, The new-born birds are dancing on the south wind's fragrant sigh; Where the sun-lit brook sends on the ear the prattle of its wave, And melts upon the vernal shore, is placed a nameless Grave! A haunt for monitory thought on life's dull scene is this. A lesson on its fleeting hour, its little day of bliss: |