THE MAYFLOWER.
[1620.]
Happy, thrice happy, the Puritan maid
Leaving the fort and the grim palisade;
Leaving the bay where the good ship was fast
To find, her head bending low to the blast,
Just a pink and white hood
In the wind-driven wood.
Then smiling and blushing
With eagerness flushing,
So swiftly she hurried
Young Robin was flurried
And as he his pinions to Boreas tossed,
The dear little pink-hooded stranger was lost.
Sadder but wiser our Puritan maid
Quickly her footsteps, impetuous, staid
Scarce had she lost it, another was seen
Looking its best in a garment of green,
With a pink and white hood;
For a moment she stood
With heart lighter beating,
At such a sweet meeting.
As kneeling she found it
Where Nature had gowned it
What visions of promise marched up the bleak slope,
To crown that May blossom, the blossom of hope.
THE BEST WE CAN.
When things don’t go to please us
Is it wisdom to despair?
With a friend at hand who sees us,
And will make the shadows fair?
Shall we let our courage falter,
Fail to sympathize with man?
Fortune’s ways are bound to alter
If we do the best we can.
The light is often hidden
Yet our feet are safely shod,
While we do as we are bidden
Putting perfect trust in God.
He will lead His children ever,
As he has since time began,
And will strengthen each endeavor,
When we do the best we can.
The rugged way, but certain,
Is a blissful way to tread;
Care is ready like a curtain,
To obstruct the path ahead.
Clouds will come, no use repining,
Yonder trial, joy outran,
Brightly still the sun is shining,
We must do the best we can.
If things don’t go to please us
There is little need to fret,
Shall a trifle more to tease us,
Make us gratitude forget?
Needless then to stand debating;
Love will any chasm span;
Winning is a way of stating:—
“We have done the best we can.”