| |
| ‘MY birthday!’ What a different sound | |
| That word had in my youthful ears! | |
| And how, each time the day comes round, | |
| Less and less white its mark appears! | |
| |
| When first our scanty years are told, | 5 |
| It seems like pastime to grow old; | |
| And as Youth counts the shining links | |
| That Time around him binds so fast, | |
| Pleased with the task, he little thinks | |
| How hard that chain will press at last. | 10 |
| |
| Vain was the man, and false as vain, | |
| Who said, ‘Were he ordained to run | |
| His long career of life again, | |
| He would do all that he had done.’ | |
| Ah! ’tis not thus the voice that dwells | 15 |
| In sober birthdays speaks to me; | |
| Far otherwise—of time it tells | |
| Lavished unwisely, carelessly; | |
| Of counsel mocked; of talents made | |
| Haply for high and pure designs, | 20 |
| But oft, like Israel’s incense, laid | |
| Upon unholy, earthly shrines; | |
| Of nursing many a wrong desire; | |
| Of wandering after Love too far, | |
| And taking every meteor fire | 25 |
| That crossed my pathway, for his star! | |
| All this it tells, and, could I trace | |
| The imperfect picture o’er again, | |
| With power to add, retouch, efface | |
| The lights and shades, the joy and pain, | 30 |
| How little of the past would stay! | |
| How quickly all should melt away— | |
| All—but that freedom of the mind | |
| Which hath been more than wealth to me; | |
| Those friendships, in my boyhood twined, | 35 |
| And kept till now unchangingly; | |
| And that dear home, that saving ark | |
| Where Love’s true light at last I’ve found, | |
| Cheering within, when all grows dark | |
| And comfortless and stormy round. | 40 |
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