Poems (E. L. F.)/The future
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THE FUTURE.
1844.
Oh! the glad Future, where our thoughts may range
In the wild wayward fantasy of change—
Careering onward, with untutored scope,
Through all the young imaginings of hope;
Leaving the dull sad cares of life behind—
The bygone sorrows of the anguished mind;
The chill of friendship gone, of love's decay,
And all the miseries of our weary day.
How sweet to soar on Hope's prophetic wing,
With the soft rapture of the thoughts that bring
A joy to life, a durance to the heart
That else had drooped and died.
There is a pleasure to the thinking soul
In conning o'er the deep events that roll
Their tideless current o'er the fate of men,
Rising and falling 'neath no human ken;
In tracing o'er those memories of the past,
Where joy and misery blend unto the last.
But, oh! there is a pleasure greater still,
When thought takes form 'neath man's creative will,
And, in the long futurity of years,
No sad distortion of our fate appears;
When each fond hope seems nursed by smiles of joy,
With not a trace of sadness to destroy;
When all is bright, and earth in gladness seems
The waking memory of our latent dreams.
'Tis the uncertainty of time that lends
The mystic charm that for ever blends
With all we know of Fate: if we but knew
The many heart-breaks, we would fain eschew
The dark misfortunes that for ever meet—
The few rejoicings we would fondly greet;
But hope, for ever buoyant, leaves behind
Whate'er of misery might oppress the mind,
And only trusts that future days may be
A wider field for its expectancy.
Oh, blessed thought! since man can never know
The coming joy, there's no expectant woe
To darken life; where deeper shadows dwell
Than bursting hearts can learn to bear with well.
But when we know there 1s a home above,
Where all is perfect and undying love,
The heart will bend, in trusting grace, to meet
The promised justice of the Mercy-seat.
Oh! the glad Future, where our thoughts may range
In the wild wayward fantasy of change—
Careering onward, with untutored scope,
Through all the young imaginings of hope;
Leaving the dull sad cares of life behind—
The bygone sorrows of the anguished mind;
The chill of friendship gone, of love's decay,
And all the miseries of our weary day.
How sweet to soar on Hope's prophetic wing,
With the soft rapture of the thoughts that bring
A joy to life, a durance to the heart
That else had drooped and died.
There is a pleasure to the thinking soul
In conning o'er the deep events that roll
Their tideless current o'er the fate of men,
Rising and falling 'neath no human ken;
In tracing o'er those memories of the past,
Where joy and misery blend unto the last.
But, oh! there is a pleasure greater still,
When thought takes form 'neath man's creative will,
And, in the long futurity of years,
No sad distortion of our fate appears;
When each fond hope seems nursed by smiles of joy,
With not a trace of sadness to destroy;
When all is bright, and earth in gladness seems
The waking memory of our latent dreams.
'Tis the uncertainty of time that lends
The mystic charm that for ever blends
With all we know of Fate: if we but knew
The many heart-breaks, we would fain eschew
The dark misfortunes that for ever meet—
The few rejoicings we would fondly greet;
But hope, for ever buoyant, leaves behind
Whate'er of misery might oppress the mind,
And only trusts that future days may be
A wider field for its expectancy.
Oh, blessed thought! since man can never know
The coming joy, there's no expectant woe
To darken life; where deeper shadows dwell
Than bursting hearts can learn to bear with well.
But when we know there 1s a home above,
Where all is perfect and undying love,
The heart will bend, in trusting grace, to meet
The promised justice of the Mercy-seat.
NATURE.
1845.
Light o'er the valley the soft winds are falling,
Caressing each floweret and leaf budding there;
While the voice of the birds, with their music, seem calling
On the spirit of peace that floats through the calm air.
Light o'er the valley the soft winds are falling,
Caressing each floweret and leaf budding there;
While the voice of the birds, with their music, seem calling
On the spirit of peace that floats through the calm air.
Sweet are the zephyrs now hovering around thee,
And sweeter the fragrance of each tiny flower;
While the bright sun is smiling in radiance above thee,
Let thy heart own the magic of beauty's deep power.
And sweeter the fragrance of each tiny flower;
While the bright sun is smiling in radiance above thee,
Let thy heart own the magic of beauty's deep power.
There's a bliss to the heart, while the spirit is keeping
A home for all things that are lovely on earth;—
When Nature, awake—or its image, when sleeping—
Reflects in that bosom each vision of worth.
A home for all things that are lovely on earth;—
When Nature, awake—or its image, when sleeping—
Reflects in that bosom each vision of worth.
There is no shade of sorrow too deep and enduring,
No happiness fading for ever away,
But Nature, with smiles that are sweet and alluring,
Can give to such darkness the prescience of day.
No happiness fading for ever away,
But Nature, with smiles that are sweet and alluring,
Can give to such darkness the prescience of day.
Oh! soft o'er the spirit comes Nature's own beauty,
No feeling on earth bears the same calming power:
Like a conscience ab rest—a bright soul in its duty,
So tranquil the presence of fancy's fond hour.
No feeling on earth bears the same calming power:
Like a conscience ab rest—a bright soul in its duty,
So tranquil the presence of fancy's fond hour.
It is not to all that this spirit is given—
This worship of things that are lovely and good;
But, oh! my heart tells me this bright beam of Heaven
Is mine, midst the darkness of earth's solitude.
This worship of things that are lovely and good;
But, oh! my heart tells me this bright beam of Heaven
Is mine, midst the darkness of earth's solitude.