O LOVE, whose patient pilgrim feet Life's longest path have trod, Whose ministry hath symbolled sweet The dearer love of God, -- The sacred myrtle wreathes again Thine altar, as of old; And what was green with summer then, Is mellowed, now, to gold. Not now, as then, the Future's face Is flushed with fancy's light; But Memory, with a milder grace, Shall rule the feast to-night. Blest was the sun of joy that shone, Nor less the blinding shower -- The bud of fifty years agone Is Love's perfected flower. O Memory, ope thy mystic door! O dream of youth, return! And let the lights tht gleamed of yore Beside this altar burn! The past is plain; 't was Love designed E'en Sorrow's iron chain, And Mercy's shining thread has twined With the dark warp of Pain. So be it still. O thou who hast That younger bridal blest, Till the May-morn of love has passed To evening's golden west, Come to this later Cana, Lord, And, at thy touch divine, The water of that earlier board To-night shall turn to wine. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO MR. THOMAS SOUTHERNE, ON HIS BIRTHDAY, 1742 by ALEXANDER POPE TO A SNOWFLAKE by FRANCIS THOMPSON ASTRAEA by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER OF THE REED THAT THE JEWS SET IN OUR SAVIOUR'S HAND by WILLIAM ALABASTER THE IVORY GATE: DIRGE by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES THIS IS THE END by JEAN DE BOSSCHERE |