WINTER STORES
We take from life one little
share,
And say that this shall
be
A space, redeemed from toil
and care,
From tears and sadness free.
And, haply, Death unstrings
his bow,
And Sorrow stands apart,
And, for a little while,
we know
The sunshine of the heart.
Existence seems a summer
eve,
Warm, soft, and full of
peace,
Our free, unfettered feelings
give
The soul its full release.
A moment, then, it takes
the power
To call up thoughts that
throw
Around that charmed and
hallowed hour,
This life's divinest glow.
But Time, though viewlessly
it flies,
And slowly, will not stay;
Alike, through clear and
clouded skies,
It cleaves its silent way.
Alike the bitter cup of grief,
Alike the draught of bliss,
Its progress leaves but
moment brief
For baffled lips to kiss
The sparkling draught is
dried away,
The hour of rest is gone,
And urgent voices, round
us, say,
"Ho, lingerer, hasten on!"
And has the soul, then, only
gained,
From this brief time of
ease,
A moment's rest, when overstrained,
One hurried glimpse of peace?
No; while the sun shone kindly
o'er us,
And flowers bloomed round
our feet,--
While many a bud of joy
before us
Unclosed its petals sweet,--
An unseen work within was
plying;
Like honey-seeking bee,
From flower to flower, unwearied,
flying,
Laboured one faculty,--
Thoughtful for Winter's future
sorrow,
Its gloom and scarcity;
Prescient to-day, of want
to-morrow,
Toiled quiet Memory.
'Tis she that from each transient
pleasure
Extracts a lasting good;
'Tis she that finds, in
summer, treasure
To serve for winter's food.
And when Youth's summer day
is vanished,
And Age brings Winter's
stress,
Her stores, with hoarded
sweets replenished,
Life's evening hours will
bless. |
