Classic Poem

ON HIS SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY .

What time I ope, with reverential love,
One of the charmed volumes of my choice,
I hear, as in the cloister of the grove,
The solemn music of thy Druid voice.

All sights and sounds that can delight impart,
Or whatsoe'er athwart thy vision swims,
Before the altar of the world's great heart,
Thou nobly breathest in undying hymns.

For thy broad love there is no flower too small,
Nor scene too vast for thy encircling mind;
Thy heart is one with Nature's, yet o'er all
Rises its sweet vibrations for mankind.

The faintest breath that finds a flowery nook;
The flying winds with wild and gust-wise locks;
The pebble, which the lapidary brook
Rounds into form, or ocean, scorning rocks.

The burnished bluebird with the spring-time song;
The azure-winged runnel's April call;
The timid wren, the falcon fierce and strong;
The soaring water-fowl, the swooping fall;

The glowworm's lantern, and the lunar car;
The midnight taper, and the noonday sun;
The pool where swims the lily like a star;
The boundless sea, with lily-sails o'errun.

The brooklet-blade, the brightest wavelet moves
Where childhood's paper sails are set unfurled;
The antique home, or shade; the oaken groves,
Growing the ponderous navies of the world.

The peaceful hearthstone, and the roaring field;
The song-bird, and our eagle on his crag;
The love that all that quiet home can yield;
The love of country, freedom, and her flag.

All these are thine, thou pioneer of song,
Bard of the prairie and primeval grove;
And unto thee our praise may well belong;
Yes, more than praise — the homage of our love.

And this is thine, and, therefore, I obey,
And bow before thy Druid locks of snow;
And on thy sacred altar here I lay
My votive branch of western mistletoe.