Page:Poems McDonald.djvu/120

This is not our rest—for the dark wing of grief,
 May shadow the sunlight that beamed o'er our home,
And some long cherished idol, like autumn's pale leaf,
 Go down to the grave in its beauty and bloom:
Or those whom we trusted would never betray;
 And hearts that we prized as the truest and best,
Grow cold and forgetful, and friendship decay
 We thought most undying—this is not our rest!

This is not our rest—youthful dreamer, awake!
 Believe not that here, thy best moments are given:
The hopes that are brightest will soonest forsake,—
 Earth holds not a bliss that should lure thee from heaven:
The song may resound, and the festal be gay,
 And beauty seem flattered, or idly caressed:
But the world and its fashion are passing away—
 Awake, youthful dreamer, this is not thy rest!

This is not thy rest—though a voice may be near,
 In some tranquil hour, to whisper of peace;
To promise that life shall be sunny and clear,
 And all the wild storms of adversity cease;