Classic Poem

A S in the morning of life's fatal scene,
The young heart opens to each varying hue;
It turns to cloudless hopes, and hours serene,
Nor ever trembling, asks, " will these be true? "
Pause, youthful traveller — this beaming view,
Of joy's bright visions, thou awhile may'st cherish:
Muse on each sketch thy glowing fancy drew,
But, pause, O pause, for shortly they must perish.
One charm shall last amid their passing fleetness,
The best, the purest, pleasure can bestow,
Was there not one, who doubled all its sweetness,
Who taught with kindred trust, thy heart to glow?
Yes! friendship's angel-spirit shall remain,
When fade of hope and joy the transient forms;
Her dearest office is to soften pain,
And she will be the pilot of the storms:
O, she will lead the sad and sinking spirit
A heaven-ward track undaunted to pursue,
Point to the blessings virtue shall inherit,
And sweetly whisper, " These alone are true "

A S in the morning of life's fatal scene,
The young heart opens to each varying hue;
It turns to cloudless hopes, and hours serene,
Nor ever trembling, asks, " will these be true? "
Pause, youthful traveller — this beaming view,
Of joy's bright visions, thou awhile may'st cherish:
Muse on each sketch thy glowing fancy drew,
But, pause, O pause, for shortly they must perish.
One charm shall last amid their passing fleetness,
The best, the purest, pleasure can bestow,
Was there not one, who doubled all its sweetness,
Who taught with kindred trust, thy heart to glow?
Yes! friendship's angel-spirit shall remain,
When fade of hope and joy the transient forms;
Her dearest office is to soften pain,
And she will be the pilot of the storms:
O, she will lead the sad and sinking spirit
A heaven-ward track undaunted to pursue,
Point to the blessings virtue shall inherit,
And sweetly whisper, " These alone are true "