Since first, above the horizon,
The silvery crescent lifted,
The clouds of five-and-twenty years
Have o'er its surface drifted.
But, while the days have come and gone,
Though many a changing "morrow,"
The growing moon sailed up and on
Above the hills of sorrow.
And, though with years came blinding tears,
The guiding moon grew brighter;
It gave relief, in time of grief--
Made heavy burdens lighter.
One quarter of one hundred years
It has been growing, filling,
Till, round and bright, its silvery light
On all tonight is spilling.
Oh, harvesters on life's great plain!
The young sheaves shining 'round you
Prove that you have not toiled in vain
Prove that God's blessing found you.
Smile in the moonlight's silver gleam,
Rejoice in harvest weather;
Ye know ye may not always keep
The precious sheaves together!
Shine on, oh moon of wedded bliss!
Live on through many a morrow,
Till from the sun of Immortal Love
Its golden light you borrow.
[A FRAGMENT.]
Your words came just when needed. Like a breeze,
Blowing and bringing from the wide salt sea
Some cooling spray, to meadow scorched with heat
And choked with dust and clouds of sifted sand,
That hateful whirlwinds, envious of its bloom,
Had tossed upon it. But the cool sea breeze
Came laden with the odors of the sea
And damp with spray, that laid the dust and sand
And brought new life and strength to blade and bloom,
So words of thine came over miles to me,
Fresh from the mighty sea, a true friend's heart,
And brought me hope, and strength, and swept away
The dusty webs that human spiders spun
Across my path. Friend--and the word means much--
So few there are who reach like thee, a hand
Up over all the barking curs of spite
And give the clasp, when most its need is felt;
Friend, newly found, accept my full heart's thanks.