Classic Poem

I GAZE towards the glowing east
At morning, noon, and eve,
And quietly my soul doth feast
On dreams that fancy weave.
Methinks they whisper o'er the tide,
" Come, darling, fly to me; "
And I could think I'm by thy side,
So near I seem to thee.

Oh, would that I could fly to thee,
And nestle in thy breast!
And well I know that I would be
To thee a welcome guest.
Oh, were I there, how greedily
I'd kiss thy rosy lips!
As greedy as the hungry bee,
rom flowers their nectar sips.

Can an amaranthine flower
Bloom within an earthly bower?
Whilst the past we calmly scan,
Where the flowers that graced life's morning,
Seared and scattered, speak in warning,
Dare we think it ever can!

Let us bind our hearts, my brother,
Close to Christ and to each other;
Then we'll hope our love to be
Fadeless in its fresh young beauty,
Changeless in its sense of duty,
A green isle in life's rude sea;

Where, amidst the ceaseless battle,
Sabre's flash and cannon's rattle,
Joy may find a keener zest;
Where we with a smile, my brother,
Or a word, can cheer each other,
Till we reach the goal of rest.

I want you, dear ones, I want you;
My soul is day and night
Stretching her wings towards you,
As for her homeward flight.
But the way is dark and eerie
On which alone I stray,
The wings all broken and weary,
And the home far away.

Oh, for one precious golden hour
Beyond yon frowning hill;
Fruit from my own sweet woodland bower,
Drink from its crystal rill!
Where grows no blade nor blossom,
Low on the earth I lie;
My wings o'er my bleeding bosom
I fold, and long to die.

Wherefore blame me so for blindly
Nursing that which must decay?
Wherefore bid me so unkindly
Thus to cast my flower away?

All the beauteous things I cherish,
All the poetry of earth,
Would with my sweet flow'ret perish,
All the joy and all the worth.

Unto me this plant was given
By His hand who all things know;
And it must be meant for Heaven,
If on earth it cannot grow.

Suffering ones, who oft in weeping
Do their seedlings sow and tend,
Still expect a time of reaping,
Trusting Him who knows the end.

So I'll keep my precious flower,
Tending it with smile and tear,
Waiting for the golden hour
When its blossoms must appear.

When our heart's deep love is slighted
By those for whose smiles we languish,
When our fondest hopes are blighted,
And high swell the waves of anguish,
Why should we be found repining
Though our souls are deep in sorrow?
Hope's bright star is sweetly shining
On the pale brow of the morrow.

Though the dearest ties are broken,
Though by all the world forsaken,
Though the cruel word is spoken
By the lips that joy could waken,
Why should we be found repining?
Far above each cloud of sorrow
Hope's bright star is sweetly shining
On the pale brow of the morrow.

What about life's ceaseless battle?
Let our course be ever onward;
Words of strife like children's prattle
Sound, when we look sky-ward, sunward.
Still there is a silvery lining
To the darkest cloud of sorrow;
Hope's bright star is sweetly shining
On the pale brow of to-morrow.