When not a cloud is in the sky,
Nor shadow on the lake
Save what the trees that line the shore
And little islands make,—
When every nook where'er we look,
Is bright with dewy flowers,
And violets are thickly strewn
As though they fell in showers.
How sweetly on the balmy air
The children's voices ring!
And even I renew my youth
With each returning spring.
Oh, we may keep a fresh young heart
Though outward beauty fade,
If we but cherish there a love
For all that God has made.
I do not call a happy man
The man that's rich or great;
Nor him, who stands with folded hands
And says, "It is my fate!"
But he is blest who cheerfully
Endures or does his part,
And looks on earth, and sea, and sky
With an adoring heart.
He wanders by the pebbly beach.
And by the summer brook,
And thoughtfully he turns the leaves
Of Nature's blessed book.
In forest shade, on hill, in vale,
Where'er he walks abroad,
There goes an humble worshipper—
A lover of his God.
The cares that trouble other men
For him have little weight;
He values glory at its worth,
Nor cringes to the great.
His simple pleasures never fail,
Nor make his nature cold,—
And though the years may come and go,
He never can be old.
You call the picture overdrawn—
But such a man I know;
Whose presence, like the morning sun,
Dispels each cloud of woe.
And trustingly I cling to him
As only true love can,—
My comforter, protector, guide,—
My love, thou art the man!
And you are teaching me to look
On nature with your eyes;
The pleasant change within my heart
Each day I realize.
The world is brighter now to me,
A holier thing is life.
Than even on that happy day
When first you called me wife.
The trifles that perplexed me then
Now leave my spirit calm,—
An for the deeper woes of life
I have a healing balm.
I see the hand of God in all,
I know that he is just;
And where I cannot understand
I've learned to wait and trust.
Oh, I remember well the day—
'Twas in the month of June,
When every tree was all in leaf,
And every bird in tune,—
We walked together, arm in arm,
As we are walking now,
But I was young, and Time had left
No traces on your brow.
I listened with a strange delight
To every word you said,
And then to hide the burning tears
I turned away my head.
I dared not trifle with your love,
Though till that magic hour
I had not cared for aching hearts
If they but owned my power.