THE WAYSIDE SPRING.
FROM THE FRENCH OF ALPHONSE DE LAMARTINE.
As here is quaffed a sweet forgetfulness
Of the long journey yet to go,
So unto all who through life’s pathways press,
Lord, from thy rock let waters flow!
Let thy sweet grace refreshment be!
On earth we wander wearily,
And in a thirst that will not cease.
Oh! let each dry and dusty lip
From thy deep hidden fountain sip
Sweet draughts of love and peace.
Ah! every soul drinks its own cup of bliss.
Some the delights of glory bless;
One finds it in a little daughter’s kiss,
Another in a wife’s caress.
The secret friendships of the heart,
The rapture of creative art,
Each hive its own sweet honey stores;
To every lip let torrents burst
From life’s great fount; but I—I thirst
For the eternal shores.
Earth’s dreams are but a bitterness to those
Whose yearnings are for love divine.
No rivulet sparkles here, no runlet flows,
To satisfy this thirst of mine.
What shall assuage it? The desire
That heavenward ever doth aspire,
And sigheth ceaselessly;
The sweetness that in suffering lies,
And tear-drops showering from my eyes,
Are hope’s one draught for me.