Hid far away from mortal ken,-- These wonderous gleams that round us stray, These meteors, 'mong the haunts of men, These holy thoughts, that day by day, Shine in their light of Heavenly hue O'er chequered paths of work and love, Refreshing as the tender dew, Are stray-beams from the light above Men call it Memory, but we know 'Tis Heaven's warm light on earth's cold snow!
Twilight's shades are round me creeping, Nature dons her robe of gray; Through the blue the stars are peeping, Sunset's last, faint streaks decay.
Visions come of bygone hours, Ere these eyes were dimmed by tears, Youth's bright scenes unwreathed with flowers Dimly seen through mist of years.
Softly through the summer gloaming Steals this picture of the past; Through the wood the breeze is roaming Moon beams round their shadows cast.
By the murmuring, flowing river, Sits a maiden waiting there; Graven on my heart forever Is that form of beauty rare!
Vows are plighted, love is given, Trusting love without alloy, And the calm, blue, starry heaven Whispers but of truth and joy!
By the murmuring, flowing river, Where the shore the waters lave, Now the moon beams fall and quiver On a green and lonely grave!
Token sad of fond love slighted, Of a rose cut down in bloom, Of a fair young blossom blighted All too lovely for the tomb.
Softly through the summer gloaming Sighs the breeze a requiem low, And my sad heart, ever moaning Answers to its tones of woe!
We left our ink-stained office-desk, Two, young in years, yet old in care; We laid aside our world-face mask, We laid aside our daily task To breathe the country air.
We laid aside our musty books, Grown almost hateful to our eyes; We longed to roam the country nooks, We longed to hear the murmuring brooks, And see the sunny skies.
We longed to hear the birds again, Minstrels that through the woodlands stray; We longed to hear the reaper's strain Sung in the fields of golden grain On the bright harvest day.
Oh! pleasant were the breezy downs! Oh! fair the lanes and fields; Far from the weary noise of towns, We half-forgot grim Care's dark frowns, 'Mong peace such quiet yields.
He said, The busy city's street The path of labour and of woe, The anxious faces, hurrying feet, The things that every day I meet, Are what I hate to know!