THE glory of Life is fleeting; Its splendour passeth away, As the tints and odours meeting In the flowers we twined to-day. How brightly, in varied light, They reflected the morning sun; But the chilling dews of the night Withered them one by one. So the stream of Existence floweth O'er the golden sands of youth, In the light of a joy that gloweth From the depths of its love and truth. But heavy, and cold, and fast, The gathering clouds uprise, Eclipsing the light, which cast On the waters a thousand dyes. And onward, in sullen endeavour, Like a stream in a sunless cave, It floweth in darkness ever: Yet -- could we thus reach the grave! But we wake to a sorrow deeper -- The knowledge of all we have lost; And the light grows fainter and weaker As we're borne from youth's sunny coast. Yet onward with drifting motion, Still farther from life and light; Around us a desert Ocean -- Above us eternal Night. |