A brightness in the sky,As if a new-born sun was there,
Just seraph-throned on high;And birds, and flowers, and mountain streams,
Rejoicing in his infant beams,
Are glad as if the Winter's breath
Had never blown the blast of death.
Softly along the silent sea
The light-wing'd breezes creep,So low, so calm, so tranquilly,
They lull the waves asleep;And oh! as gladly on the tide
Yon lofty vessel seems to ride,
As if the calmly heaving sail
Had never met a sterner gale.
And in a small, sweet covert nigh,
Her own young hands have made,A rosy girl hath laughingly
Her infant brother laid;And made of fresh Spring flowers his bed,
And over him her veil hath spread,
With looks as if for ever there
His form should bloom as young and fair.
And shall these pass away, and be
A wreck of what they were, -Shall birds, and flowers, and earth, and sea,
And yon proud ship, and boy so fair,Be blasted with the tempest's rage.
Or worn with poverty and age,
Till all of life and hope shall seem
A heart deceiving, feverish dream!
Yes! - and 'tis but few years we need,
With retrospective eye,In their repeated tale to read
Our own home's history:We know their end - to us, to all -
They are but blossoms, and they fall;
But yet young life, the sun, the bowers
Are sweet as they were always ours:
For they are emblems to the heart
Of things it cannot see, -Emblems which have their counterpart
In heaven's eternity;And though their day be short, or done
With our last hours and setting sun,
They are within their moment's flight,
What there shall be for ever bright!