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There is a day of sunny rest For every dark and troubled night And grief may hide an evening guest, But joy shall come with early light.

William C. Bryant

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William C. Bryant
Light
Evening
May
Grief
Come
Early
Troubled
Every
Rest
Guest
Joy
Compensation
Shall
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Thine eyes are springs in whose serene And silent waters heaven is seen. Their lashes are the herbs that look On their young figures in the brook.
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Features, the great soul's apparent seat.
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Fairest of all that earth beholds, the hues That live among the clouds, and flush the air, Lingering, and deepening at the hour of dews.
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Look on this beautiful world, and read the truth in her fair page.
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Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood?
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The February sunshine steeps your boughs and tints the buds and swells the leaves within.
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Do not the bright June roses blow To meet thy kiss at morning hours?
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Alas! to seize the moment When the heart inclines to heart, And press a suit with passion, Is not a woman's part. If man come not to gather The roses where they stand, They fade among their foliage, They cannot seek his hand.
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All great poets have been men of great knowledge.
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All things that are on earth shall wholly pass away, Except the love of God, which shall live and last for aye.
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The gentle race of flowers Are lying in their lowly beds.
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Glorious are the woods in their latest gold and crimson.
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Truth crushed to earth shall rise again,- The eternal years of God are hers But Error, wounded, writhes with pain, And dies among his worshippers.
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The hushed winds their Sabbath keep.
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The victory of endurance born.
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The air was fragrant with a thousand trodden aromatic herbs, with fields of lavender, and with the brightest roses blushing in tufts all over the meadows.
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Ah, why Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect God's ancient sanctuaries, and adore Only among the crowd and under roofs That our frail hands have raised?
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Ere, in the northern gale, The summer tresses of the trees are gone, The woods of Autumn, all around our vale, Have put their glory on.
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Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again.
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Go forth under the open sky, and list To Nature's teachings.
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