Wearying of that which is, and cannot see
A sunbeam burst upon futurity,
It tries to cast away the woes that are
And borrow brighter joys from times afar.
For what our feet tread may have been a road
By horses' hoofs pressed 'neath a camel's load;
But what we ran across in childhood's hours
Were fields, presenting June with May-tide flowers:
So what was done and borne, if long ago,
Will satisfy our heart, though stained by tears of woe.