I'm twenty-one: the spring-time has gone by,
And now the summer of my life comes on;
The short-lived summer that will fade and die
As swiftly as the fair glad spring has gone.

But oh, to leave the fields where I have played,
To join the world's eternal jar and strife!
And oh, to leave the streamlet in the glade,
To mingle with the roaring sea of life!

I view the record of my bygone days—
The blotted pages tell a mournful tale:
Of murmurs, where there was more need for praise;
Of failures, where a brave heart could not fail!

What have I done these one-and-twenty years
That I should still encumber thus the ground?
There falls no answer from the hidden spheres,
And from the silent earth there comes no sound.

Yet, though the seasons of my faded youth
Have failed in that which makes even Duty great,
O Lord, I thank Thee that I know this truth,
“They also serve who only stand and wait.”