The joys of former years have fled,
Like meteors through the midnight skies;
The brief but brilliant light they shed,
Serves but to blind our anxious eyes:
So flee the joy of early days,
And perish like the meteor’s blaze.
The joys of former years decay
Like summer flow’rs we linger o’er,
While, one by one, they fade away,
And fall to earth to bloom no more;
Touch’d by the chilling hand of Time,
Thus fail the joys of manhood’s prime.
The joys of former years are like
The last sweet notes of music, when
Upon your ear they faintly strike,
You know they’ll ne’er be heard again
The breaking harp, last sweetest strain,
Ne’er woke by hand or harp again.
The joys of former years when past,
Seem like a poet’s dream of bliss;
Too brightly beautiful to last
In such a changing world as this:
Where stern reality destroys
Life’s poetry, and all its joys.
The joys of former years expire,
As each loved one is from us torn;
The dying flame of life’s last fire,
Then lights us to their grave to mourn;
Where joy entomb’d for ever, lies,
Hope still may from that grave arise.
Swedesboro’, N. J. 1841.
* * * * *