Gazing, with a timid glance, On the brooklet's swift advance, On the river's broad expanse! Deep and still, that gliding stream Beautiful to thee must seem, As the river of a dream. Then why pause with indecision, When bright angels in thy vision Beckon thee to fields Elysian? Seest thou shadows sailing by, Hearest thou voices on the shore, That our ears perceive no more, Deafened by the cataract's roar? O, thou child of many prayers! Life hath quicksands, — Life hath snares ! Care and age come unawares! Like the swell of some sweet tune, Morning rises into noon, May glides onward into June. Childhood is the bough, where slumbered Birds and blossoms many-numbered ;Age, that bough with snows encumbered Gather, then, each flower that grows, Bear a lily in thy hand; Gates of brass cannot withstand One touch of that magic wand. Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth, In thy heart the dew of youth, O, that dew, like balm, shall steal And that smile, like sunshine, dart Into many a sunless heart, For a smile of God thou art. EXCELSIOR. THE shades of night were falling fast, His brow was sad; his eye beneath, Flashed like a faulchion from its sheath, And like a silver clarion rung The accents of that unknown tongue, Excelsior! In happy homes he saw the light Of household fires gleam warm and bright; And from his lips escaped a groan, "Try not the Pass !" the old man said; The roaring torrent is deep and wide!" "O stay," the maiden said, "and rest |