THE years with their changes come, and the years with their plans unfold, But give me the peace my heart hath known in the sweet dream-days of old. It comes to my soul to-night, like the dream of a dream at dawn, Like the smell of the rain on the ripen'd grain, at the first flush of the morn, Then rush with the maddened throng, and battle for fame and gold, And furl your flags 'mid the wrath of wrong—I'll cling to the peace of old. The years with their follies come, with their follies and then their woe; But give me the hope of the years I knew in the summer of long ago. It comes to my heart to-night like the song of the birds and the bees, Like the blue of the skies that over them rise and the sway of the leaf in the trees. Then follow the fickle throng, and clamor both loud and bold, And drown Truth's voice with the drums of Wrong—I'll cling to the hope of old. The years with their visions come, and go, as a tale that is told— But give me the faith my mother taught in the bright, glad days of old. It comes to my soul to-night, and I know there's a God above, Else why should I long, in an infinite song, to tell of the depths of love? Then kneel to the tinseled knave, and offer your soul at his shrine— You bind your wreaths on the brow of a slave— I'll cling to the hand Divine. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MY BOY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SURFACES AND MASKS; 3 by CLARENCE MAJOR DOMESDAY BOOK: THE CONVENT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS A LETTER ON THE USE OF MACHINE GUNS AT WEDDINGS by KENNETH PATCHEN A WINTER NIGHT by SARA TEASDALE |