BY HENRY B. HIRST.
———
I have had my days of sadness: youth, which we review in age,
Spelling once again its syllables, was a blurred and blotted page.
Drifting down the tide of Time my tiny barque, unguided, passed
Toward the Mäelstrom of Manhood, puppet both of wave and blast.
But an all-protecting Providence watched the craft, when tempest-tost
On the Atlantic of Adversity; and the vessel was not lost.
Through the distance, when the clouds were lifted by the eddying breeze,
Sunny sapphire skies shone on me, with, beneath, Pacific seas.