Page:Poems Cook.djvu/328

I deem'd the hard, black frost a pleasant thing,
 For logs blazed high, and horses' hoofs rung out;
And wild birds came with tame and gentle wing,
 To eat the bread my young hand flung about.

But I have walk'd into the world since then,
 And seen the bitter work that Cold can do—
When the grim Ice King levels babes and men
 With bloodless spear that pierces through and through.

I know now there are those who sink and lie
 Upon a stone bed in the dead of night:
I know the roofless and unfed must die,
 When even lips at Plenty's Feast turn white.

And now, whene'er I hear the cuckoo's song,
 In budding woods, I bless the joyous comer;
While my heart runs a cadence in a throng
 Of hopeful notes, that say, "Thank God for Summer!'

I've learnt that sunshine bringeth more than flowers,
 And fruits, and forest leaves, to cheer the earth;
For I have seen sad spirits, like dark bowers,
 Light up beneath it with a grateful mirth.

The aged limbs, that quiver in their task
 Of dragging life on when the bleak winds goad—
Taste once again contentment, as they bask
 In the straight beams that warm their churchyard road.

And Childhood—poor pinch'd Childhood—half forgets
 The starving pittance of our cottage homes,
When he can leave the hearth, and chase the nets
 Of gossamer that cross him as he roams.

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