Classic Poem

I .

THE LARK .

Morning is doffing her mantle of grey;
Up from the sod to the portals of day
The blythe lark is soaring—carolling free,
Musical spirit o'erflowing with glee.

Storm clouds may darken the fair brow of spring,
Hush the sweet songster and ruffle his wing:
When the bright sunshine comes after the rain,
The lark is soaring and singing again.

Buoyantly, brightly, in life's sunny morn,
Child of the Muses, we saw thee upborne,
Spreading thy pinions the white clouds among,
Pouring thy thrilling and rapturous song.

Thy song may be hushed, thy plumage be soiled,
Struck from the summit to which thou hast toiled:
Be hopeful, thy pinions may bear thee again
On high, and thy song be poured not in vain.

II .

THE ROSE .

Blushing and glowing, the rose in full bloom,
Jewell'd with dewdrops and rich in perfume;
Fairest of blossoms, a gem and a joy,
Her charms never pall, her sweets never cloy.

Remembrance may fade in sorrow and strife,
The darkness, the storms, the winter of life;
Summer returning will bring in her train
The rose in her bloom and fragrance again

See the sweet rosebud her petals unfold!
The gems on her breast of value untold;
The dewdrop, the ruby, the lustrous pearl,
Meet emblems of thee, pure, innocent girl

The trail of the snake is over thy name,
Dimm'd are thy gems, and sullied thy fame:
Virtue will triumph, detraction will die,
The rose and the gem smile up to the sky.

III .

THE STREAM .

A bright stream may shrink in summer's hot fire,
Flowers on her margin may droop and expire;
Her channel be dry, her soft gushing tone,
The voice of the stream be silent and gone.

Lost nymph of the stream, we find thee again;
Clouds from their treasures have pour'd out the rain;
Thy channel is full, thou glidest along,
Flowers on thy margin and mirth in thy song.

Brightly and swiftly, with laughter and song,
The life stream of youth runs sparkling along;
Oft on the margin, enamelled with flowers,
Youth in wild pleasure is wasting the hours

Fierce fires of passion are scorching his veins,
The bright stream hath shrunk 'neath horrors and pains;
God speaks in thunder—the rain-torrent pours—
The life-stream again runs fresh 'mong the flowers.

IV .

THE RESUMÉ .

Be hopeful, sweet singer; man may not raise
To lays that thou pourest high pæans of praise:
The nightingale's song will ever delight,
Though sung in the gloom and silence of night

Beautiful maiden, may never envy
Blanch thy sweet roses and dim thy bright eye:
Purity, innocence, God is thy guide,
Angels shall guard and watch by thy side.

Bright stream, we bless thee; we trace thee afar
Down the green valley; Hope's beautiful star
Gleams on thy bosom; may never again
Wild fires of passion thy life-current drain.

Be hopeful, hope ever; hope never dies;
In midst of our sorrows hope ever lies:
The hot brow of anguish, cooled by the balm
Dropped from her pinions, is trustful and calm