Classic Poem

Oh sing, clear Brook, sing on, while in a dream
I feel the sweetness of the years go by!
The crags and peaks are softened now, and seem
Gently to sleep against the gentle sky;
Old scenes and faces glimmer up and die,
With outlines of sweet thought obscured too long;
Like boys that shout at play far voices cry;
Oh sing! for I am weeping at the song.
I know not what I am, but only know
I have had glimpses tongue may never speak;
No more I balance human joy and woe,
But think of my transgressions, and am meek.
Father! forgive the child who fretted so. —
His proud heart yields, — the tears are on his cheek!