Shall it be a lay of the seasons, That fade like a dream away? The spring so fair, and the perfumed air, And the songsters that trill so gay? And the summer robed in splendor, Serene as a spirit dream, Her throbs and sighs and cerulean skies Would I make my soul’s bright theme? Shall ’t be of the autumn’s fading, And the winds that sob and sigh, And the leaves of gold, drifting fold on fold, And the flowers that droop and die; The birds that trill us a last farewell, Tenderly, sorrowfully sweet, Saddening the heart, doomed ever to part, And life’s work so incomplete? Shall I tell of the white-robed winter Sweeping down from icy zones, And the frozen streams, and the pale, cold gleams, And its desolate sobs and moans? Ah! shall it be of home and mother, And the years that have flown away, And the loved of old, like a tale that’s told From childhood’s dear happy day? Shall ’t be of the innocent children, Believing of such is heaven? Their prattle and glee’s a joy unto me, And care from the heart is driven. Shall I sing of our lovèd country, And these bright, fair homes of ours? So happy and free from sea unto sea, Guard well thy bulwarks and towers. And the grand “Old Flag” floating o’er us, Proudly ruling the boundless sea, Ever unfurled, encircling the world, Hath glory enough for me! Shall I sing of man’s joys and sorrows? Of woman’s undying love? Of the ransomed that wait at the “pearly gate” Of the “city of gold” above? I would sing of all things beautiful, The heroic and the true, With a quenchless flame and a deathless fame To brighten the whole world through. A resurrection and a rising To a grander, nobler life, In brighter spheres, where the golden years Exclude all of storm and strife. SPEAK NOW. Ah, me! the words unspoken Might have saved a soul to-day-- And perhaps a heart was broken, And made hopeless by the way. If we poor blundering creatures But in wisdom would speak now, We should see more smiling features, And less gloom on many a brow. There would be far less of doubting, And far less of weary pain; If we ceased our cruel scouting; We should wider friendship gain. Many a way-worn wanderer Would rejoice if he but knew That absence maketh but fonder; That our hearts are leal and true. Why not speak the word of warning When we know that danger’s nigh? Why stand ye in idle scorning Whilst the heedless ones pass by? Why not help thy fallen brother To regain his feet once more? Do thy duty, let no other For thy help in vain implore.