Nature with her wealth of birds and flowers,

Has in her heart a place for every weed;

For her quick eyes require no microscope

To note the varied wonders and delights

That the Creator's humblest works possess.

For though time may seem to drag slowly on

Before you will know it, time will be gone.

I shall soar and sing o'er the wrecks of Time.

But we look ahead to the far off skies,

For the years are flying fast,

And we know that the present that round us lies

Ere the light of a few more moments dies,

Will with many loved and severed ties

Fade into the mist-veiled past.

Who enslaves another's manhood with weak human power alone,

Lays a heavier yoke of bondage thoughtlessly upon his own.

A sharper or more bitter sorrow prove--

Hath Fate a keener thrust,

Than when his dart reveals that one we love

We cannot trust?

Home! that one spot, wherever situated,

Clothed with grace no other clime may share,

From her bright precincts, by her love created,

Spring fadeless wreaths that later years shall wear;

Around her lowliest paths of daily duty

Gush rippling fountains, from Youth's glistening sands

Flow down the years, and dim with heaven-born beauty,

The glare and glitter of all other lands.

Call no work low that is honest;

Honest toil never degrades.

Condemn not truth for error's deeds.

In war--a country's hopes stagnate,

In war--her strong are slain.

In war--dark evils desecrate

Her council hall and fane.

In war--with wings of omen dark

Her wrongs and debts increase,

Prosperity and progress mark

The golden realm of Peace.

What would life be if these few years

Of thankless toil and bitter tears

Were all and naught beyond?

An utter failure void of hope,

A sunless maze of narrow scope

Where phantoms of despair would grope

Throughout its narrow bound.

When I think of the joy awaiting,

Beyond the bier and the shroud,

Death seems but a transient shadow,

A passing Summer cloud.

Life is the root of Eden's loftiest tree

Whose ripened fruit is immortality.