"On thy long loneliness the sun
Blazes in dread, the moon
Shines with a pitiless, threatening hue!
And while the golden sand-grains run,
Old age comes nearer; and like you
I may be standing silent—soon!
"Then turn, my lover, turn your eyes
Back to the humble door;
Waste not the youthful years in hand.
See where the truest comfort lies,
And join the freer old-time band,
Nor crave a worldly store!
"In Freedom's land let no one know
Even the chain of ease,
Nor bow to royal Luxury's glance.
From peasant-hands fair art can grow;
From the rough brow thought springs with lance
And helmet: God loves these!"
She wept; then raised her head, and swung
The aged wheel with whispering whir;
And as it turned, it softly sung
(In fancy) this response to her:—
"I had not spun the sower's shirt,
I had not kept the children warm,
If I had found a wearing harm
In my monotonous toil alert.
"To those who wait with eager eyes
And ready hands and tender hearts,—
They find the giant year, that parts,
Hath forged strong links with paradise!
"Sigh not that Time doth turn the glass
To let the golden sand-grains run,
While longer shadows of the sun
Fall o'er the spring-time, bonny lass!
"The circumstances of a life
Are little things compared to it;
The way love's shown is ever fit;
Thank God, who gives us love, not strife!
"And if I do not stand beside
The hearth, as fifty years ago,
No current of the years that flow
Can rob the radiance from a bride!
"I know not why the world should change,
I know not why my day is done;
And yet this limit of my zone
Hints of the limit to all range.