Page:Zinzendorff and Other Poems.pdf/97

And when the star of eve, from weary care,
        Bade him to his home repair,
And by the hearth-stone where his joys were born,
        The cricket wound its tiny horn,
    Sober memory spread her board
                With knowledge richly stor'd,
And supp'd with him, and like a guardian bless'd
                    His nightly rest.

The old man sat in his elbow-chair,
        His locks were thin and grey,
Memory, that faithful friend was there,
    And he in querulous tone did say,
        "Hast thou not lost, with careless key,
    Something that I have entrusted to thee?"

    Her pausing answer was sad and low,
            "It may be so! It may be so!
    The lock of my casket is worn and weak,
And Time with a plunderer's eye doth seek;
        Something I miss, but I cannot say
        What it is, he hath stolen away,
        For only tinsel and trifles spread
        Over the alter'd path we tread;
But the gems thou didst give me when life was new,
            Here they are, all told and true,
    Diamonds and rubies of changeless hue."

            But while in grave debate,
        Mournful, and ill at ease they sate,
            Finding treasures disarrang'd,
Blaming the fickle world, tho' they themselves were chang'd,