"And other days come back to me
With recollected music."--BYRON.
How memory's boundless store is fraught
With wonders, mystic and sublime!
Bright gleams, that oft we set at nought;
Sweet messengers from Heaven's own clime.
The wind that stirs the boughs at eve--
A star that glimmers in the blue
Of nights gemm'd crown, oftimes may wreathe
A halo, strangely sweet and new.
Round hopes and fears we used to know
In life's young morning, long ago.
The cadence of the sighing waves
That break in song along the shore,
The winds that sigh thro', hidden caves
Are echoes from the days of yore.
The moonlight, stealing o'er the sea,
So calm, above the restless tide,
Is like the light that used to be
In many a by-gone eventide,
As memory comes, and paints each scene,
Of loves and joys that once have been.
We feel the power, and own the spell,
That bid the lonely spirit stray,
In thought, to where our lost ones dwell,
Now from our paths so far away
We say "'tis dreams that Fancy brings,"
And go our way, forgetting still;
But on the winds are angels' wings,
And spirit power, our souls that thrill
With yearning for that life unseen,
Hid far behind this mortal screen.
For Memory still with subtle art
Unfolds the bygone to our eyes,
And still the lonely, longing heart
Would soar beyond earth's mysteries,
Till wearied grown of useless tears,
And longing for the olden days,
We turn to see the future years
Lie smiling 'neath hope's rosy haze,
And view the past with hopeful love,
Made sure our life is "hid above."--
Hid far away from mortal ken,--
These wonderous gleams that round us stray,
These meteors, 'mong the haunts of men,
These holy thoughts, that day by day,
Shine in their light of Heavenly hue
O'er chequered paths of work and love,
Refreshing as the tender dew,
Are stray-beams from the light above
Men call it Memory, but we know
'Tis Heaven's warm light on earth's cold snow!