We are but children still, the years Have never taught us to be bold, For mark our trembling and our fears When sometimes, as in days of old, We in the darkness lie awake, And see come stealing to our side A ghostly throng—the grave Mistake, The Failure big, the broken Pride.
For O! the things we see at night— The dragons grim, the goblins tall, And, worst of all, the ghosts in white That range themselves along the wall!
How close they creep! How big they loom! The Task which waits, the Cares which creep; A child, affrighted in the gloom, We fain would hide our head and weep. When, lo! the coward fear is gone— The golden sunshine fills the air, And God has sent us with the dawn The strength and will to do and dare.
For O! the things we see at night— The dragons grim, the goblins tall, And, worst of all, the ghosts in white That range themselves along the wall!
THE LONG AGO.
O life has its seasons joyous and drear, Its summer sun and its winter snow, But the fairest of all, I tell you, dear, Was the sweet old spring of the long ago— The ever and ever so long ago—
When we walked together among the flowers, When the world with beauty was all aglow. O the rain and dew! O the shine and showers Of the sweet old spring of the long ago! The ever and ever so long ago.
A hunger for all of the past delight Is stirred by the winds that softly blow. Can you spare me a thought from heaven to-night For the sweet old spring of the long ago?— The ever and ever so long ago.