To-day's most trivial act may hold the seed Of future fruitfulness, or future dearth;Oh, cherish always every word and deed!
The simplest record of thyself hath worth.
If thou hast ever slighted one old thought, Beware lest Grief enforce the truth at last;The time must come wherein thou shalt be taught The value and the beauty of the Past.
Not merely as a warner and a guide, "A voice behind thee," sounding to the strife;But something never to be put aside, A part and parcel of thy present life.
Not as a distant and a darkened sky, Through which the stars peep, and the moon-beams glow;But a surrounding atmosphere, whereby We live and breathe, sustained in pain and woe.
A shadowy land, where joy and sorrow kiss, Each still to each corrective and relief, Where dim delights are brightened into bliss, And nothing wholly perishes but Grief.
Ah, me! -- not dies -- no more than spirit dies;But in a change like death is clothed with wings;A serious angel, with entranc|ed eyes, Looking to far-off and celestial things.
