Classic Poem

Weary pilgrim, rest thy powers
Nature hath her reaping hours;
Thou, so rich in memories stored,
Blend thine own with Nature's hoard.
Other milestones distant far, —
See thy last in yonder star!

Where the roseate doors of rest
Open in the deepening west,
O'er thy quarters for this night
Hesperus upholds his light;
And the folding dusk shall bring
Sleep to be thy covering.

Pain and toil, as partners here,
Mingle for remembrance dear;
Couldst thou sever this from these,
Rest were robbed of half her ease;
Could thy heart forget the cost,
Labour done were labour lost.

Pilgrim, in thine evening skies
Thou canst make no stars arise;
Yet may Time, on gentler stream,
Gather and reflect the gleam,
Where the widening ripples yield
Gleanings from a distant field.

Here, in fellowship with thee,
Earth attains tranquillity;
Through the reaping-field of dreams
Evening draws her shadowy teams,
And a young moon, newly born,
Sets her sickle to the corn.