426 JONATHAN W. GORDON. [1840-50. IV. How sad that wild stream murmur'd on Our life is three-fold — three combine When day had banished thee : Ere we can leave the senses' night, All nature then was blank, and dawn And scale the reasons' cloudless height. And day a curse to me. Where truth's unfading treasures shine : And when at last the sun went down, The Past, the Future, and the tie — I've watched his shining track Self-conscious thought — that makes them A moment with a childish frown, one. Then wished he'd ne'er come back. Make man, whose flight of life, begun. Sweeps on forever, bright and high. And, then, with what deep joy I've turned, To catch thy peerless beam, And thus, while on the topmost wave As on the azure sky it burned Of time we sail to-day, I greet Above my heart's wild stream! Each with a sons: — an echo meet. Of voices now beyond the gi-ave. Dear stream of childhood's happy home, To my fond soul 'twas given, To hear thy matchless music come, In echoes back from heaven. But long ago those eclioes died PALE STAR. Within my heart, sweet stream, And sunk beneath life's restless tide ; Pale star, that shone upon my youth. E'en thou art but a dream. With calm and steady ray, Thou art the only friend whose truth But still, pale star, thy constant ray Has never known decay. Has been my steadfast friend; And lingers still o'er life's wild way, And oft as night returns I gaze From dangers to forefend. In rapture up to thee, And deem thy gentle beaming rays And thou wilt shine upon the spot Intended but for me. Where I shall lay my head In death — forgetful — as forgot — For oft I've watched tliy holy light Among the nameless dead. In childhood's sinless hour ; And in the still deep hush of night Have thrilled beneath its power. And when the care-worn world hath slept, IN CROWDS. AND YET SADLY ALONE. I've stole from man's abode And been with thee, and vigil kept, In crowds, and yet sadly alone, Near the bright throne of God. I gaze on the blue sky at even And list to the mellowest tone And when alone by the wild stream That ever fell softly from heaven : That knew my infant feet, The tone of the harp of the air, I've thought of thee, and dreamed a dream Breathino- warmly and low, as an angel at Of love — pure, sinless, sweet. prayer.
