Classic Poem

I SAW a stream whose waves were bright
With morning's dazzling sheen;
But gathering clouds, ere fall of night,
Had darken'd o'er the scene:
“How like that tide,”
My spirit sigh'd,
“This life to me hath been!”

The clouds dispersed; the glowing west
Was bright with closing day
And o'er the river's peaceful breast
Shone forth the sunset ray:—
My spirit caught
The soothing thought,
“Thus life might pass away.”

I saw a tree with ripening fruit
And shady foliage crown'd;
But ah! the axe was at its root,
And fell'd it to the ground:
Well might that tree
Recall to me
The doom my hopes had found.

The fire consumed it; but I saw
Its smoke ascend on high—
A shadowy type, beheld with awe,
Of that which will not die,
But from the grave
Will rise and have
A refuge in the sky.