THE ELDER'S REBUKE
"Listen! When your hair,
like mine,
Takes a tint of silver gray;
When your eyes, with dimmer
shine,
Watch life's bubbles float
away:
When you, young man, have
borne like me
The weary weight of sixty-three,
Then shall penance sore
be paid
For those hours so wildly
squandered;
And the words that now fall
dead
On your ear, be deeply pondered--
Pondered and approved at
last:
But their virtue will be
past!
"Glorious is the prize of
Duty,
Though she be 'a serious
power';
Treacherous all the lures
of Beauty,
Thorny bud and poisonous
flower!
"Mirth is but a mad beguiling
Of the golden-gifted time;
Love--a demon-meteor, wiling
Heedless feet to gulfs of
crime.
"Those who follow earthly
pleasure,
Heavenly knowledge will
not lead;
Wisdom hides from them her
treasure,
Virtue bids them evil-speed!
"Vainly may their hearts
repenting.
Seek for aid in future years;
Wisdom, scorned, knows no
relenting;
Virtue is not won by fears."
Thus spake the ice-blooded
elder gray;
The young man scoffed as
he turned away,
Turned to the call of a
sweet lute's measure,
Waked by the lightsome touch
of pleasure:
Had he ne'er met a gentler
teacher,
Woe had been wrought by
that pitiless preacher. |
