Lines

Lines

Oh! tell me not of years that are past,

The present let me know;

Recall not all that's fled so fast,

In life's quick changing flow,

Tell me not of the gay wrought scenes,

We've known in days of yore,

Oh cease to think, they ere have been,

Like dreams, they'll be no more.

Tho' time has laid a kindly hand

On us, yet has he given,

Our hearts a change, or has he fan'd

The flame that lights to Heaven.

Seek we on earth its short-liv'd joys,

Transient as they are bright,

Why! plant we flowers which care destroys,

Ere they have burst to light.

The present let us call our own,

The future time will ope;

One gives us joys before unknown,

The other whispers, hope.

Rosa

1:46, p. 184

1828.02.08