Still on life's battlefield we'll fight
And win such victories as we may,
Believing still that right is might
And faithful hearts shall win the day;
Then let us shout and sing with glee—
To-morrow you'll be fifty-three.
And when a few more days are past
And we are bowed with years and care,
The cheerful sunshine still may last
To make declining years more fair;
Ah! much I hope that this may be—
To-morrow you'll be fifty-three.
'Tis sweet to think of boyhood's days
And all the happiness they gave,
To summon back life's earliest plays
And call lost childhood from its grave;
Thus memory gives us victory—
To-morrow you'll be fifty-three.
Since manhood's form was given me
Until this hour, our ways have been
In different lines of industry,
And scarce have we each other seen;
Your birthday's held in memory—
To-morrow you'll be fifty-three.
MY BROTHER'S BIRTHDAY.
Fifty-eight to-day, fifty-eight to-day!
How years of your life have sped away,
And left in the brown of the dying year
A quiet content, devoid of fear
At the onward march of Time's noiseless feet,
Which ever advance, but ne'er retreat,
As they bear you on to that silent shore,
From which earth's mortals return no more.
With the night of time come the sunset cares,
The faltering step, the snowy hairs,
The tottering frame, and the stifled breath,
Sure harbingers of approaching death,
That bring with their train a tranquil repose
Unknown to the tears and sighs and woes
That belong to scenes of an active life,
Whose atmosphere breathes of toil and strife.
As glorious day dies out in the west
And sinks in crimson splendor to rest,
While the stars of heaven come one by one
With reflected light from th' sinking sun,
So may life with you in its late decline,
Leave a trail of light that yet may shine
To illumine the path that others tread,
And cheer the way of the vanquished.