Poems (Stephens)/Retrospection

by Eliza Jane Stephens

For works with similar titles, see Retrospection.

RETROSPECTION.

The year is past, the one we hailed
 With mirth and music, jest and song,
Time has with steady, noiseless step,
 Borne that as others, swift along."

And 'twas alas like those before—
 Had smiles of joy and tears of grief—
Had vain regrets for yesterday,
 Hopes of the morrow false and brief.

And earnest aspirations toe,—
 Deep yearnings for the pure and good℄
But when temptations passed between,
 Our feeble nature scarce withstood.

A present bliss o'ercame the faith
 That sight alone should triumph here
We counted each privation great,
 And every trial thought severe.

We sought for wealth, 'twas worse than vain—
 For fame, and yet we found it nor,
And dreamed of love in hearts of those,
 Who had our very name forgot.

We made new friends, neglected old—
 Nor thought at what a fearful cost,
Till later hours of bitterness,
 Had proved the worth of those we lost.

We heard some breathe the welding vow,
 And shared in scenes of festal mirth—
As oft we've looked upon the dead,
 Or sat beside a lonely hearth.

And chequered thus with sun and shade,
 Has been our path a few short years,
No day has been completely bright,
 And none entirely filled with tears.

And can we hope that years to come
 Will have a fairer record page;
Do we in patience still improve,
 And does our strength increase with age.

It rests with us—nor blot nor stain
 Can make the faintest impress there,
If faithfully we act our part.
 Content alike to do and bear.