Classic Poem

A Rowland for your Oliver
We think you've justly earned;
You sent us each a valentine,
Your gift is now returned.

We cannot write or talk like you;
We're plain folks every one;
You've played a clever jest on us,
We thank you for your fun.

Believe us when we frankly say
(Our words, though blunt are true),
At home, abroad, by night or day,
We all wish well to you.

And never may a cloud come o'er
The sunshine of your mind;
Kind friends, warm hearts, and happy hours,
Through life we trust you'll find.

Where'er you go, however far
In future years you stray,
There shall not want our earnest prayer
To speed you on your way.

A stranger and a pilgrim here,
We know you sojourn now;
But brighter hopes, with brighter wreaths,
Are doomed to bind your brow.

Not always in these lonely hills
Your humble lot shall lie;
The oracle of fate foretells
A worthier destiny.

And though her words are veiled in gloom,
Though clouded her decree,
Yet doubt not that a juster doom
She keeps in store for thee.

Then cast hope's anchor near the shore,
'Twill hold your vessel fast,
And fear not for the tide's deep roar,
And dread not for the blast.

For though this station now seems drear
'Mid land-locked creeks to be,
The helmsman soon his ship shall steer,
Out to the wide blue sea.

Well officered and staunchly manned,
Well built to meet the blast;
With favouring winds the bark must land
On glorious shores at last.