Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/The Past

by Lydia Huntley Sigourney

THE PAST.

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"God requireth that which is past."—Ecclesiastes.

 

The Past! We have forgotten it:
 Its shadowy reign is o'er,
And like a folded mist hangs
 O'er dim oblivion's shore;
The deeds of childhood's distant day,
 Light words from youth that fell,
Unnumber'd thoughts of ripen'd years,
 Who can their import tell?

The Present, with its strong embrace,
 Our prison'd heart detains,
The Future lures us blindfold on
 By Hope's illusive chains:
But who to woo the hoary Past,
 That old and wither'd crone,
Turns with a lover's ardent eye,
 Or an enthusiast's tone?

Yet Heaven records, though we forget,
 Each deed that shuns the light,
Each word that melted into air,
 And hid from memory's sight;
The very thoughts that in their birth
 Sank motionless and dead,
All have their impress on that page
 Which at God's bar is read.

The Present, like an eagle's wing,
 May from our vision fleet,
The Future, in its robe of dreams,
 Our grasp may never meet;
But, frail one, with the fearful Past
 Mysterious secrets are,
Oh, spread thy conscience to thy Judge
 In penitence and prayer.