Classic Poem

I SEE him in the morning flush,
No outlook dark, no prospect dim,
And wonder what the twilight hush
Will bring to him.

Ideals burn along his way
As burned the Alexandrian flame
When wanderers of an elder day
To Egypt came.

Hopes are like vernal violets now,
Yea, like the golden daffodil!
He dreams not of the barren bough,
The silent rill.

The path is vague, the path is long,
And at the end the severed chord!
Yet the true devotee finds song
Its own reward!