Only "a little while!" would we but ponder
These three brief words, their length and breadth and
height
A solemn sign to each, a ray of wonder
From the Unseen, to light the spirit's night.
"A little while"—past, present, future blending
Shall be a tale soon told, and pass'd for aye;
Then the eternal life, that cannot die—unending,
Undying woe, or Heaven's own dazzling day.
LIFE'S PATHWAY.
We walk among labyrinths of wonder, but tread the mazes with
a club;
We sail in chartless seas, but behold! the Pole-star is above
us—TUPPER.
Life is a pathway, stretched from morn till eve,
O'er which, through shade and sunshine, we must go
And, whether bright or dark this life we live,
Its end must bring us unto joy or woe;
Joy, that no mortal's holiest dreams can know,
Or dread, unending; fearful depths of woe!
This path is fair at morning, wondrous fair;
With verdant windings, hiding from the view
The far-off journey, and what may be there,
Hid by the Future hilltops, high and blue;
And morn's glad sunlight smiles from dazzling skies,
Gilding the path we tread with heaven-lent dyes.
Oh! youth is sweet! for tender hands are near,
And eyes aglow with Love's own magic ray,
Heart meeting heart, each to the other dear—
Through hours that, ere we count them, glide away;
For none can turn to seek a cherished place—
One only life, whose path we can't retrace!
And soon they pass, these meteor joys of earth,
That flash and gleam along the troubled way;
Till wondering wanderers question if their birth
Dawns from a Land that knows no sad decay;
Some sinless region, from whose portals bright
These fleeting rays descent in heavenly light.
Such glorious hues, in golden glory glowing,
When sunrise splendour glads the morning sky;
That bloom awhile, and as they bloom bestowing
Beauty and light, so soon to melt and die,
Leaving a yearning in the darkened heart
To know more closely what we see in part.
The noonday calm, the sunny Summer hours,
The wild-birds' warbled songs, the balmy air;
Life's early pathway strewn with earth's sweet flowers—
Can these be dying things—so bright, so fair?
Or lights to lead us o'er a chequered road,
And cheer the shadows to a blest abode?