The lichens lengthen on the trees— They blotch, with gray, the fences And prove decadence is of years, Whatever our pretenses; The storm-worn roof and gables all Suggest inceptive mosses— The ample house, with silent rooms, Hope’s argosy and losses. The shrubs that once bore stately bloom Are now a bushy tangle, Where tribes of beetles, thro’ the spring, O’er blighted beauty wrangle; And goldenrod, with kindly grace, Hides, with her shining tassels, Neglected spots, where once was built, Young Fancy’s airy castles. The bell, that called the dinner hour With deep, revibrant clanging, Is woven round with maple boughs, Its stranded rope, down-hanging, Has won a morning-glory bloom To twine its frayed out fringes, And trumpet vine creeps o’er the gate To hide its broken hinges. Now silence reigns where once was heard The ring of childish laughter;— They’ll come no more—“our little boys”— In all the years hereafter; Yet winds oft join with listless mood To cheat me with the seeming— A dimpled hand tugs at the latch— But ah! ’twas only dreaming. They’re out upon the field of Life Where blades of strength are clashing, Where true and false contend for aye With thought’s bright spear-points flashing, And we must hush love’s hunger-cry And still the selfish yearning— Must hide the heart’s fond worship, tho’ Its altar fires are burning. But mother-love can make her strong To check her own heart’s throbbing, And bid them go with steady voice While _self’s_ in secret, sobbing; Then she will whisper broken words Alone with God in prayer, And find that heavenly blessing falls For every cross we bear. Thought. Backward, backward Thought has traveled, Back into the dim unknown, When the spheres in cosmic star-dust Circled His eternal throne— Back where cosmogonic darkness, Wrought upon by Spirit light, Yielded elemental centers And protoplastic satellite. Back, where first creative forces, By impulsion from “The Cause,” Start the universe in motion, Guided by unerring laws— Hurl the spheric fiery masses Thro’ abysmal depths of space— Meting out to each an orbit With defined, unchanging place. Thought, from thence, fares down the aeons Thro’ the long chaotic night, While His omnipresent agents (Each a vast deific might) Fashion to His will and purpose Thro’ infinitude of spheres; In our own group change evolving Till Earth’s infant life appears— Till creation felt Time’s fullness, Surging thro’ unmeasured night, That should rend the swathe of vapors With command—“Let there be Light—” Felt the rolling, tossing tumult Of the fierce, internal sweep When the thunder-toned volcanos Lifted lands from shoreless deep.