Classic Poem

To General M. Breyman, on His Birthday,
Another year, and still another May;
Think not, O friend, that ever I forget —
Though doubtful oft of my own onward way —
Where are thy mile stones set.

Not many more, you say. The day declines;
The long, eventful journey nears its close,
The misty sunbeams fall in slanting-lines
Though seas of gold and rose.

Gentle the down-hill slope. Love walks beside,
With tender words and with caresses sweet,
Folds thee in clasping arms, lest ill betide,
Supports thy falling feet.

The eve draws on; the setting sun hangs low;
Cometh the peaceful twilight, dim and gray:
Yet hope is thine, and Faith in whisper low,
Tells of a brighter day.

Some token of true friendship would I bring,
But neither gold nor silver shall it be.
Accept, dear friend, the little song I sing —
My birthday gift to thee.