Page:Pocahontas and Other Poems (NY).pdf/153

152 Thou canst not think so many years have fled Since those good times; and yet as silently As the light snowflake glide our fleeting days, And, while we dream their greenness still survives, Amid the remnant of their wither'd pride Our steps make sullen echo. But 'tis weak To mourn the change that nature writes on man, As heavenly wisdom dictates. Doth the sheaf Look back regretful to its bursting germe? Or the ripe fruit bemoan the fallen flower? Why then should man lament his vanish'd morn? The day of duty is the day of joy; Of highest joy, such as the heavens do bless. So keep perpetual summer in thy soul, And take the spirit's smile along with thee, Even to thy winding-sheet. Yon lowly roof, Thou know'st it well, and yet it seems more low Than it was wont to seem; for thou hast been A visitant of loftier domes, and halls Meet for the feet of princes. Ask thou not For father or for mother, they who made That humble home so beautiful to thee: But go thy way, and show to some young heart The same deep love, the same unchanging zeal Of pure example, pointing to the skies That nurtured thee. So shalt thou pay the debt To nature's best affections and to God.