Poems (Chitwood)/The Stream of Life

by Mary Louisa Chitwood

For works with similar titles, see The Stream of Life.

THE STREAM OF LIFE.

I.
On the stream of life is a fairy boat;—
 Light breezes o'er it creeping;
Oh, gently, gently doth it float,
 And a child is in it sleeping.
How softly fall the sunbeams bright
 In the sparkling waves beside it;—
And the boat glides on with a motion light,
 For an angel's hand doth guide it. -
Fair, fragile flowers, with buds of snow,
 On the grassy banks are gleaming;
While zephyrs kiss the infant's brow,
 And whisper in its dreaming.
The angel guides the boat along,—
 A cloudless sky is o'er them;
The bird of peace trills forth her song,
 And the waves are clear before them.

II.
Gently, softly years have past
Since we saw that infant last,
Gliding down life's sunny tide
With a gentle angel guide.
Faster now the streamlet flows,
Yet its water brightly glows,
While bright roses by its side
Sweetly edge its silvery tide;
And rich trees, tall, slight and fair,
Gently wave bright foliage there.
Now, some clouds of golden hue
Float 'mid heaven's pure arch of blue;
Yet the floating cloudlets seem
Tinged with pleasure's golden beam.
Faster, now, the stream doth float,
Bearing on the fairy boat;
And the angel is not there;
But the gentle child and fair—
Not a child but now a youth,
On his face the seal of truth,—
HE the boat is guiding, now,
Hope sits on his curl-swept brow.
Watching o'er him in each place
Is the guardian angel's face;
But the youth sees not the angel,
With her fair, unclouded brow,
As she watcheth o'er his journey,—
He is looking upward now.
In the distance gleaming there,
Is a castle built in air;
Yet to him it brightly looks
Firmly built on granite rocks.
How it glitters in the light—
Like a star it beameth bright;
Oh! what joy is on his face—
Soon he thinks to reach the place.
And the streamlet bright and fair,
 As the gentle breezes' play,
Seems to guide him swiftly there,
 To the castle far away.

III.
Years have past,—ay, years of sorrow
 Slowly, wearily have passed,
Bringing many a dark to-morrow,
 Since we saw that youth the last!
Since we saw him smiling, smiling,
 On the future seeming fair;
While Hope's voice was so beguiling,
 Promising no touch of care.
Now the stream of life is dashing
 Over many a hidden rock,
And the billows loud are crashing
 With a dull and weary shock;
And the boat is dark and shrouded,
 But the youth is sitting there;
Oh! his brow is sadly clouded
 By the dark hand of despair.
All seems dark and drear before him;
 Now he sits with folded arms;
Forms of evil hover o'er him,
 Pointing to a thousand harms,
Years have placed full many a sorrow
 On that once unclouded brow—
Disappointment, care and sorrow
 Sit upon his features now!
And the castle in the distance
 Long ago has passed away;
Now he offers no resistance
 As the rough waves dash to-day.
Yet, afar off, watching ever,
 Is the angel in her place;
He looks up with strong endeavor,—
 Catches hope from her bright face.

IV.
Years have gone and brought their changes;;
 See the little boat once more:
It has passed those raging billows—
 Storm and breakers all are o'er.
Now 'tis gliding, gently gliding
 Over waves all tipped with light;
Scarce a zephyr stirs the billows,
 As they ripple clear and bright.
There the same, same form is sitting,
 Age's snow is on his brow;
All is peace within his bosom,
 Not a care disturbs him now.
Bathed in folds of richest glory,
 On the blue fields of the west,
Sinks the sun in mighty splendor,
 To his couch of nightly rest.
And the little boat seems resting—
 For it moves so silently;
And the aged pilgrim looketh
 Peacefully upon the sky.
In that sky, so blue and tranquil,
 Smiles the angel gently fair,
Stretching out her arms toward him,
 Calling him to join her there.
See, the boat is sinking, sinking,
 Not by storm or tempest driven,
Like a gem beneath the waters,—
 And the pilgrim wakes in Heaven.