I traverse oft in thought the battle-plain
Of my past life, 'mid many a shatter'd dream
Of pleasure, and of hope, which youth in vain
Based on the shifting sands of Time's swift stream,
Fond bulwarks 'gainst the strong assaults of pain;
And 'mid their ruins, like an exiled man
Gazing on scenes where he can dwell no more,
I stand and mourn their sweet enchantment o'er,
Where both life's pleasures and its cares began.
Earth crumbles 'neath our feet as we walk on,
And leaves a gulf behind none can retrace;
Its pleasures flash a moment and are gone;
But if we treasure in our soul _love's_ grace,
_That_ will refresh and gladden all our race.
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