Classic Poem

Did you hear the stern wind as it swept through the woodland,
Whose rich leafy treasures it scattered afar?
Then listen—it speaks to the depths of the spirit,
And freighted with music the syllables are.

I come like a minstrel the notes to awaken,
And out on Creation the melody fling:
My harp how majestic—the solemn old forest,
And each withered tree shall afford it a string.

Gone—gone are the flowerets—they bloom'd but a season,
Imparted their nectar and vanish'd away,
Like Earth-joys which ravish the heart of the dreamer,
The morrow entombing the bliss of to-day.

No green on the leaf—it is shrivell'd and dusky,
Unheeded it floats on the face of the stream,
A type of the sad one who buffets the tempest,
When anguish succeeds to his halcyon dream.

Since last I awakened the Song of the Forest
How riches have flown, and how friends have betray'd,
How Faith has grown cold, and how vows have been broken,
How Vice has entangled, and Virtue decay'd.

New graves have been hallow'd, and tears have enrich'd them,
Such tears as must issue unbribed from the eye,
When they who have twined like the tendrils around us,
Have turn'd from the hearth-stone to sicken and die.

Yet Pilgrim—look up—though the Autumn hath dirges,
Spring beckons thee onward—Elysian Spring,
Where mortals put on the bright crown of the perfect,
And tune to the notes of Redemption the string.

If thy heart have the precepts of Jesus in keeping,
And Faith in the Saviour is making thee strong,
Thy dear ones—now round thee so tranquilly sleeping,
Shall mingle with thee in the Conqueror's Song.