BAYARD TAYLOR.
13
On the ruins of the Past
Blooms the perfect flower at last.
Blooms the perfect flower at last.
Friend! but yesterday the bells
Rang for thee their loud farewells;
Rang for thee their loud farewells;
And to-day they toll for thee,
Lying dead beyond the sea;
Lying dead beyond the sea;
Lying dead among thy books,
The peace of God in all thy looks!
The peace of God in all thy looks!