We looked o'er the gate on a wearisome lane, Tracked afar by cold gleams of the new fallen rain; An emblem it seemed of that oft-trodden road, The sorrowful life, and its final abode, With its mire of transgressions and furrows of care, Its pools full of tears, and its sloughs of despair; And we sighed to perceive it was lost to our view Amid desolate wilds and vague ridges of blue. But there flamed up the welkin a ravishing change, That engulphed in its splendours the misty cloud range, And the path that we shuddered at caught the sky's fire, The pools flushed in silver, and gold was its mire; And we smiled in our hearts when we saw that it led Right into the sunset 'neath streamers of red. Faith's path will reflect the celestial glow, And bring heaven to the heart wheresoever we go; Deep and rough it may be, yet they sing on the road Who know that it ends in the welcome of God. [Illustration] THE DOUBTFUL RACE. Beyond the hill his vessel lies, Would he were safe upon its side, Who now through brake and thicket flies To gain the ferry in his stride. Loitering at first, though well he knew That time and tide for no man wait, He dreads to think what ills pursue The idle seaman all too late. Nelson, himself a nation's power, Victor of hosts in every clime, Stood ready aye before the hour, Nor ever deigned to race with time. THE SLIDING BOY. He shouts, he slides, my rosy boy, A moment, then comes rattling down; Youth's type is here, a slippery joy, A sudden fall, a bleeding crown. He rises, brushing off the tears In silence as he glides again; And typifies through all our years The soberer course which follows pain. YOUTH. That thoughtless child of sport and truth, I cannot with reproaches stone, O loving, laughing, trusting youth, For ever, ever gone! Sin taints, alas! the old and young, And thou hast duly borne the rod; And often for a venial wrong, Thou sweetest gift of God. I love to muse upon the boy, And his sublime aspirings trace, When hand in hand with Hope and Joy He challenged Fate to race. Still in my heart I fain would bear Some flowers of his beyond the tomb, Perhaps the crystal waters there May renovate their bloom. [Illustration] THE FERRY OF DEATH. When o'er death's ferry youth departs, Upbraid not his reluctant moan; Think of the loved and loving hearts He leaves, to cross the gulf alone. But when life's sun is low i' the west, Calmly we may our turn abide, For most of those we love the best Are shining on the other side. THE FORGE AND THE SUNSET. The sunset pales along the height, The smithy flashes free below, And ever in the thickening light The forge emits a lustier glow.