The hopes that are brightly dawning, The joys that oft are ours, Shall vanish, in life’s fair morning, Like dew-drops on the flowers.
Youth’s rosiest tints of splendor, Are fading fast from sight; And the trusting heart more tender, In patience waits the night.
Like the athlete growing weary, No more we run the race; But near to the victors cheery We seek a resting-place.
Just beyond the passing pleasure, And thought of added years, We can see Heaven’s greater treasure, Which satisfies and cheers.
An eternal light is dawning, To penetrate the gloom; In life’s more radiant morning Peace waits beyond the tomb.
A QUESTION ANSWERED.
What is the secret of discontent That never for human hearts was meant, And why the needless agitation That tries a soul and taunts a nation?
A discontent would never be known, An agitation would ne’er be shown, If things that are simply prosy and real Would correspond with the high ideal.