Comes the future to the present--
"Ah!" she saith, "too blithe of mood;
Why that smile which seems to whisper--
'I am happy, God is good?'
God is good: that truth eternal
Sown for you in happier years,
I must tend it in my shadow,
Water it with tears.
"Ah, sweet present! I must lead thee
By a daylight more subdued;
There must teach thee low to whisper--
'I am mournful, God is good!'"
Peace, thou future! clouds are coming,
Stooping from the mountain crest,
But that sunshine floods the valley:
Let her--let her rest.
Comes the future to the present--
"Child," she saith, "and wilt thou rest?
How long, child, before thy footsteps
Fret to reach yon cloudy crest?
Ah, the valley!--angels guard it,
But the heights are brave to see;
Looking down were long contentment:
Come up, child, to me."
So she speaks, but do not heed her,
Little maid with wondrous eyes,
Not afraid, but clear and tender,
Blue, and filled with prophecies;
Thou for whom life's veil unlifted
Hangs, whom warmest valleys fold,
Lift the veil, the charm dissolveth--
Climb, but heights are cold.
There are buds that fold within them,
Closed and covered from our sight,
Many a richly tinted petal,
Never looked on by the light:
Fain to see their shrouded faces,
Sun and dew are long at strife,
Till at length the sweet buds open--
Such a bud is life.
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