Classic Poem

SEE then—the clouds are broken. Even now
The woodland ways are greening, and new hope,
Perched on each lifting blade, fills all the air
With voiceless murmurs, speaking to the soul.

Come, O sad hearts,—a little turn away,
A little from life's killing care be tempted.
It is not far to heaven, when Spring is near;
Elysium, now, is just outside the city,
And Paradise awaits you in the fields.
Come while ye may, for life is not forever.

A little only, and then comes the end.
And will ye toil on, making mock of life,
Stifling the hungering spirit's cry within you,
Scorning to rest—until unhindered Death
Makes bold to lay you even with the clay?
Then shall the sod bloom, and ye will not know;
The branch shall blossom, but ye will not see;
The soft winds woo—but ye shall rise no more!

Come then! O turn to-day!—a little turn
From toil and care, while yet the heart hath feeling;
Turn to the woodlands and the springing fields.
The spice wood buds; the robin hath returned.
Believe me, Oh believe me! nothing stays
Of all we gather at the spirit's cost.
Gold for the sake of gold—alas! the days
Spent in such seeking are so much life lost.