|
I
AM quite content this evening by the fire, near the grate To sit and hear the raindrops, which are coming down so straight; While not a single star is seen, nor moon from out the sky, Therefore I love this comfort nook, and think of by-and-by. When years ago upon the farm, the evening came along, we built in coals the bridge of sticks, fair as the robin's song, But little tongues of flame reached out, as they had done before, And quite consumed the bridge of sticks--yet bright in coals it wore. We used to haul the great old logs from off the distant hill, And cut them up in stove-wood lengths; our wood-house snugly fill-- And though 't is forty gears ago, I see it quite as clear As many scenes, in childhood days, I picture through a tear. That picture, as the years roll by, grows brighter day by day; To works of art it will not yield--in life-cells stored away To gladden me in after years, far out across life's plain It links me still to days agone, and makes me young again. And by-and-by a few short steps, toward the setting sun, Where earth and sea appear to meet, the course we may not shun; Then though we lose the sight of land, God's fleet will sail the sea And just beyond the sunset cloud, a brighter beam may be. |