Years may have given us separate homes,
Friends, children, happiness and fame,
But oh! to-night our greatest wealth
Is that we call you still by name.
God bless you both! for fifty years
You've journeyed onward side by side;
And still, for years to come, God grant
Your paths may nevermore divide;
But, just as sunset's golden glow
Makes Alpine snows divinely fair,
So may the setting sun of life
Rest lightly on your silvered hair!
Yes, suns may rise and suns may set,
And tides may ebb and tides may flow,
We are your loving children yet,
And time will ever prove us so.
TO THE WALKING-STICK OF MY DEAD FRIEND
To my hand thou com'st at last,
Wand of ebon, tipped with gold,—
Often carried in the past
By a hand that now lies cold
In his grave beyond the sea,
Many thousand miles from me.
Faithful staff! for many years
Thou didst travel far and wide
Through a life of smiles and tears,—
Rarely absent from his side,
As the light of day for him
Grew pathetically dim.
When with thee he walked abroad,
Every crossing, every stair
By thy touch was first explored,
Ere his feet were planted there,
With a sort of rhythmic beat
On the pavement of the street.
Hence, when brought to face the gloom
Of a way, to all unknown,
Called to leave his sunlit room
For death's darkness, quite alone,
He instinctively again
Called to mind his faithful cane.
To whose grasp should it descend,
Since with him it could not go?
Surely no one save a friend
Would receive and prize it so!
Thus to me wast thou bequeathed,
To console a heart bereaved.