PAST DAYS
Tis strange to think there WAS
a time
When mirth was not an empty
name,
When laughter really cheered
the heart,
And frequent smiles unbidden
came,
And tears of grief would
only flow
In sympathy for others'
woe;
When speech expressed the
inward thought,
And heart to kindred heart
was bare,
And summer days were far
too short
For all the pleasures crowded
there;
And silence, solitude, and
rest,
Now welcome to the weary
breast--
Were all unprized, uncourted
then--
And all the joy one spirit
showed,
The other deeply felt again;
And friendship like a river
flowed,
Constant and strong its
silent course,
For nought withstood its
gentle force:
When night, the holy time
of peace,
Was dreaded as the parting
hour;
When speech and mirth at
once must cease,
And silence must resume
her power;
Though ever free from pains
and woes,
She only brought us calm
repose.
And when the blessed dawn
again
Brought daylight to the
blushing skies,
We woke, and not RELUCTANT
then,
To joyless LABOUR did we
rise;
But full of hope, and glad
and gay,
We welcomed the returning
day.
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