Classic Poem

BY MRS. LAURA M. THURSTON .

Go forth — the world is very wide,
And many paths before ye lie,
Devious, and dang'rous, and untried;
Go forth with wary eye!
Go! with the heart by grief unbow'd!
Go! ere a shadow or a cloud
Hath dimm'd the laughing sky!
But, lest your wand'ring footsteps stray,
Choose ye the straight, the narrow way.

Go forth — the world is very fair,
Through the dim distance as ye gaze;
And mark, in long perspective, there,
The scenes of coming days.
Orbs of bright radiance gem the sky,
And fields of glorious beauty lie
Beneath their orient rays;
Yet, ere their altered light grow dim,
Seek ye the Star of Bethlehem!

Go forth — within your distant homes
There are fond hearts that mourn your stay;
There are sweet voices bid ye come;
Go — ye must hence — away!
No more within the woodland bowers
Your hands may wreathe the summer flowers,
No more your footsteps stray;
To hail the hearth, and grove and glen,
Oh, when will ye return again!

Not when the summer leaves shall fade,
As now they fade from shrub and tree,
When autumn winds, through grove and glade,
Make mournful melody;
The long, bright, silent autumn days,
The sunset, with its glorious blaze,
These shall return — but ye — —
Though time may all beside restore,
Ye may come back to us no more .

Go — ye have dreamed a fairy dream,
Of cloudless skies and fadeless flowers,
Of days, whose sunny lapse shall seem
A fete 'mid festal bowers!
But of the change, the fear, the strife,
The gathering clouds, the storms of life,
The blight of autumn showers,
Ye have no vision — these must be
Unveiled by stern reality!

Ye yet must wake (for time and care
Have ever wandered side by side,)
To find earth false, as well as fair,
And weary too, as wide.
Ye yet must wake, to find the glow
Hath faded from the things below,
The glory and the pride!
To bind the willow on the brow,
Wreathed with the laurel garland now.

But wherefore shall I break the spell
That makes the future seem so bright?
Why to the young glad spirit tell
Of withering and blight?
'T were better: when the meteor dies,
A steadier, holier light shall rise,
Cheering the gloomy night:
A light, when others fade away,
Still shining on to perfect day.

Go then — and when no more are seen,
The faces that ye now behold —
When years, long years shall intervene,
Sadly and darkly told —
When time, with stealthy hand, shall trace
His mystic lines on every face,
Oh, may his touch unfold
The promise of that better part,
The unfading spring-time of the heart!