The worldly path is steeper
That tempts the bold and vain ; But our hearts for pleasures deeper Seek the old green lane.
From youth to age unchilling,
Thus onward will we stroll,
Our earthly course fulfilling,
As soul were linked to soul.
And still at last, late sinking,
Shall we, midst wind and rain,
Find shelter most when thinking
Of the old green lane.
AMIDST the crowd a minstrel sang,
And touched a string of finest sound ;
Unheard, for clamour rudely rang,
And envious discord music drowned.
A spot, some distance off I chose—
And sweetness crept along the air!
Above the din the music rose—
I heard the minstrel there!
Too often this the poet's lot:
He sings to present time in vain,
With crowds around him, hearkening not,
All careless mirth or loud disdain.
But when a distant day has blushed
Above the rude tumultuous throng,
The clamour of an age is hushed—
Then wakes the sleeping song!
THE ELOQUENT PASTOR DEAD.
LAMENT not for the vanished!
Is now a faltering star, far off and dim,
And Life a spectre, volatile and grim.
Weep not, ye mourners, for the great one lost!
Rich sunshine lies beyond this night of frost-
Our troubles are not worth the tears they cost.
Give forth the song of love, the steadfast vow— No tear! for Death and he are parted now, And life sits throned on his conscious brow.
Oh, mourn not! Yet remember what has been-
How buoyantly he trod this troubled scene,
The pathways of his spirit always green!
He taught the cheerfulness that still is ours,
The sweetness that still lurks in human powers;
If Heaven be full of stars, the earth has flowers !
His was the searching thought, the glowing mind; The gentle will to others' soon resigned;
But more than all, the feeling just and kind.
His pleasures were as melodies from reeds-
Sweet books, deep music, and unselfish deeds,
Finding immortal flowers in human weeds.
His soul was a vast sea, wide, clear, serene,
Deep in whose breast the mirror'd Heaven was seen,
Yet picturing Earth, and all her valleys green.
Fancy was his, and learning, and fine sense :
Were these the secret of his power intense?
No; it was Love that gave him eloquence.
Sweet were his words; the lark's song high above
They rivalled now, and now the forest-dove;
The various tones had one inspirer-Love!
His brow illumined with the sage's fire,
His voice, out-ringing like a poet's lyre-
The aged heard a friend, the child a sire.
True to his kind, nor of himself afraid,
He deemed that love of God was best arrayed
In love of all the things that God has made.
He deemed Man's life no feverish dream of care,
But a high pathway into freer air
Lit up with golden hopes and duties fair.
He showed how Wisdom turns its hours to years,
Feeding the heart on joys instead of fears,
And worships God in smiles, and not in tears.
His thoughts were as a pyramid up-piled,
On whose far top an angel stood and smiled— Yet, in his heart, was he a simple child.
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