CONSOLATION.

CONSOLATION.
384.9

We sigh for days that are no more,
We mourn the loss of passions dead;
We sing the threnodies of yore,
And weep the tear of pleasures fled.

Yet o’er the pathways of to-day
Some lingering roses still may lean,
And where our doleful footsteps stray
Sweet flowers be springing, all unseen.

Alert, the ear may catch the trill
Of bird-song caroled in the tree,
And voices from the air to fill
The soul with present ecstasy.

Above the dreaming, did we hear
The sterner tone of duty’s cali
To sympathy with things anear
That wait our joyance more than all-

Soon would we breathe the purer thought
That sets the stagnant pulse amove,
And to our lifted hands, unsought,
Will come the answering touch of love!
-John Troland.