Classic Poem

The unknown future years appal us
With dreadful threat'nings of decay;
The Present's need and toils enthral us,
And hold us as their slaves to-day.
Ah, Mem'ry! bear me to thy mountain-height,
For thunder rends the summer clouds to-night,
And with to-morrow comes the sultry light,
And all the earth's stern traffic vast.

We dare not ask when life will leave us —
Instinctively we hold our breath.
Though passing hours like tyrants grieve us,
Still would we shun the pains of death.
But rising from the grave of bygone years,
A spirit comes to pacify our fears;
'Tis Memory, and in her light man hears
Naught but the music of the Past.

O spirit, gentle and most holy!
What thanks or blessings can repay
Forgetfulness of fruitless folly
Or wiping of our tears away?
Thou art the judge, 'tis said, whom God hath given
To try our souls from dusty temples driven;
O may'st thou smile as tenderly in heaven,
And shrive as gently at the last!