A life in song . bells that ring ;And one more dawn has heard the prayer and praiseOf those who past it see the day of all the days. LXXX. They see a day, where heavens bright grain of life Sprouts in the last black death-urn of the night,And buds of peace burst through the thorns ofstrife, And souls awake to praise enduring light. Ah, even now, they see, with earthly sight,That men may track the rain-storm by the rose, And make the wake of war the way of learn, as each fresh breath of morning blows,How sweet and fair a life beneath the darknessgrows. LXXXI. So might our youth have h
A life in song . bells that ring ;And one more dawn has heard the prayer and praiseOf those who past it see the day of all the days. LXXX. They see a day, where heavens bright grain of life Sprouts in the last black death-urn of the night,And buds of peace burst through the thorns ofstrife, And souls awake to praise enduring light. Ah, even now, they see, with earthly sight,That men may track the rain-storm by the rose, And make the wake of war the way of learn, as each fresh breath of morning blows,How sweet and fair a life beneath the darknessgrows. LXXXI. So might our youth have haild this morn ; but he,For whom the soft winds whisperd in their round, For whom the brisk birds chirpt their calls of whom the bright sun up the heavens wound,And all the world of work awoke to sound, While men moved gladly and the children leapt,—He, dead to hope and happiness profound. His dreams begun, Avhile all his heavens had wept,— Upon the chill, damp ground, through all the dawnhad OTE THIRD. The people waited till another day,Then met their genial soldier-friend found our poet all alert for deeds,He said, ere reading, and he faild in now shall find him, like a storm-checkd bark,Put back to port and waiting. Many weeks,As his own lips have told me, from the night,When he forsook that Southern teachers home,He drifted like a waif from town to town,Now toiling in the fields ; now seeking workFrom door to door of shop or , as news-boy, then as printers a slave by day, a thief by taught himself to print, and gaind a timeOf leisure, when he read, and thought, and still for years he lived in misery,93 94 A LIFE IN SONG. Half starving both in body and in soul. And doubt rose round his growing powers of thought,Like vapors reeking from the refuse heapdOn undevelopd germs in early his manhoods fruit was ripening then,For always would he say, and always, too,While saying, have that
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