Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/139
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THE HAPPY EVENING.
121
And choose some other orb, the pointer's guide
To it above, heedless of all beside;
Revolving ever, still they never rove
From out the path that guards the star they love.
So woman's fond affections, pure and true,
Once gained, will faithful ever cling to you
Though all else change. Let good or ill betide,
Faint not, blest man, an angel's at thy side.
Constant in death, she whispering, points above—
"Dearest, we'll meet in heaven, for heaven is love."
Think well on this, ye fools, that seek to gain
A fleeting pleasure for an age of pain
'Tis short-lived pleasure wealth alone can give,
And happier far, methinks, 'twould be to live
Poor but contented. Now my thought is told,
Go, write it on thy heart—Wed not for gold.
To it above, heedless of all beside;
Revolving ever, still they never rove
From out the path that guards the star they love.
So woman's fond affections, pure and true,
Once gained, will faithful ever cling to you
Though all else change. Let good or ill betide,
Faint not, blest man, an angel's at thy side.
Constant in death, she whispering, points above—
"Dearest, we'll meet in heaven, for heaven is love."
Think well on this, ye fools, that seek to gain
A fleeting pleasure for an age of pain
'Tis short-lived pleasure wealth alone can give,
And happier far, methinks, 'twould be to live
Poor but contented. Now my thought is told,
Go, write it on thy heart—Wed not for gold.
Wed not for gold. Seek California's shore,
Contend with thousands for the glittering ore;
Toil while the sun beats on thy fevered head;
Toil till thy fainting heart is almost dead;
Toil till thy worn-out limbs refuse to stand;
Dig till the pickaxe drop from out thy hand;
Till frosted head and heart proclaim thee old—
Ay, more,—till death! but, oh! wed not for gold.
Contend with thousands for the glittering ore;
Toil while the sun beats on thy fevered head;
Toil till thy fainting heart is almost dead;
Toil till thy worn-out limbs refuse to stand;
Dig till the pickaxe drop from out thy hand;
Till frosted head and heart proclaim thee old—
Ay, more,—till death! but, oh! wed not for gold.
The Happy Evening.
How blest is he whose tranquil mind,
When life declines, recalls again
The years that time has cast behind,
And reaps delight from toil and pain.
When life declines, recalls again
The years that time has cast behind,
And reaps delight from toil and pain.
So when the transient storm is past,
The sudden gloom and driving show'r,
The sweetest sunshine is the last,
The loveliest is the evening hour.
The sudden gloom and driving show'r,
The sweetest sunshine is the last,
The loveliest is the evening hour.