AT THE MOUNTAINS.
69
The humble path my feet had known,
The well-known faces round my way,
The little cares, now blessed grown,
Looked fair as gifts from God to-day.
The well-known faces round my way,
The little cares, now blessed grown,
Looked fair as gifts from God to-day.
And so, I mused,—till life's short span
Is lost beyond the days of time;
New chords will touch the heart of man,
And seem to ring a sweeter chime;
But when their transient music dies,
We turn to taste the purer bliss
Of home, and love, and human ties,
Which make a heaven of worlds like this.
Is lost beyond the days of time;
New chords will touch the heart of man,
And seem to ring a sweeter chime;
But when their transient music dies,
We turn to taste the purer bliss
Of home, and love, and human ties,
Which make a heaven of worlds like this.
