. Poems of life in the country. s, how bright was the sunlight. How happy the seasons those pictures recall,Through the veil of the past their radiance glimmers, Like the glow of the sunset when night shadows fall, One canvas, presenting a scene of my childhood, Shows sweet little faces and white slumber clothesEncircling the fireside, whose bright, sparkling embers Discover the darlings just warming their I see.—now the years have grown older, And softly the moonlight its drapery throwsRound a beautiful face, nestling close to my shoulder Enchanting and sweeter than Junes blushin
. Poems of life in the country. s, how bright was the sunlight. How happy the seasons those pictures recall,Through the veil of the past their radiance glimmers, Like the glow of the sunset when night shadows fall, One canvas, presenting a scene of my childhood, Shows sweet little faces and white slumber clothesEncircling the fireside, whose bright, sparkling embers Discover the darlings just warming their I see.—now the years have grown older, And softly the moonlight its drapery throwsRound a beautiful face, nestling close to my shoulder Enchanting and sweeter than Junes blushing rose There are moments so precious, they sparkle like dia-monds, There are hours rich as rubies, whose record is thereThere are days, like rare gems, when the blue arch oiHeaven Seems the curtain of Paradise, wondrously treasures are ours, ours now and forever, Their beauty unfading, time adds to their store;Peace comforts our hearts, like a sweet benediction, While we sit by the firelight and ponder them oer. 34. POEMS FROM LIFES EXPERIENCE A SongTHE HILLS OF OLD NEW ENGLAND O, the hills of old New England, How the pictures come and goAs my fancy paints their beauty Mid tl:e scenes of long ago;The old home beneath the maples Where the happy children play,Een now their voices reach me Till it seems but yesterday. On a hill of old New England By the spreading boughs of greenStands the schoolhouse of my boyhood; Many years now roll between—Let past become the present, Brush the mists of years away,And once more upon that hillside Life is all a holiday. O, the hills of old New England, Rolling on neath summer or waving verdure, How their glory fills our eyes;Alany lands Fve traveled over. On their sunny slopes to rest,But the hills of old New England Are the ones I love the best. 26
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1920, bookpublisherprovi, bookyear1921
