A withered elder lay upon his bed, a desolate man and feeble: His thoughts were of the past, the early past, the bygone days of youth: Bitterly repented he the years stolen by the god of this world: Remembering the maiden of his love, and the heart-stricken wife of his selfishness. For the sunshiny morning of life came again to him a vivid truth, But the years of toil as a long dim dream, a cloudy blighted noon: He saw the nutting schoolboy, but forgat the speculative merchant; The callous calculating husband was shamed by the generous lover: He knew that the weeds of worldliness, and the smoky breath of Mammon Had choked and killed those tender shoots, his yearnings after honour and affection; So was he sick at heart, and my pity strove to cheer him, But a deep and dismal gulf lay between comfort and his soul. Then I said, Surely, O Life, thy name is vanity and sorrow, Thy storms at noon are many, and thine eventide is clouded by remorse. Now, when I thought upon these things, my heart was grieved within me: I wept, with bitterness of speech, and these were the words of my complaining: "Wherefore then must happiness and love wither into care and vanity,-- Wherefore is the bud so beautiful, but flower and fruit so blighted? Hard is the lot of man; to be lured by the meteor of romance, Only to be snared, and to sink, in the turbid mudpool of reality." Suddenly, a light,--and a rushing presence,--and a consciousness of Something near me,-- I trembled, and listened, and prayed: then I knew the Angel of Life: Vague, and dimly visible, mine eye could not behold Him, As, calmly unimpassioned, He looked upon an erring creature; Unseen, my spirit apprehended Him; though He spake not, yet I heard: For a sympathetic communing with Him flashed upon my mind electric. Pensioner of God, be grateful; the gift of Life is good: The life of heart, and life of soul, mingled with life for the body. Gladness and beauty are its just inheritance,--the beauty thou hast counted for romance: And guardian spirits weep that selfishness and sorrow should destroy it. Thou hast seen the natural blessing marred into a curse by man; Come then, in favour will I show thee the proper excellence of life. Keep thou purity, and watch against suspicion,--love shall never perish; Guard thine innocency spotless, and the buoyancy of childhood shall remain. Sweet ideals feed the soul, thoughts of loveliness delight it, The chivalrous affection of uncalculating youth lacketh not honourable wisdom. Charge not folly on invisibles, that render thee happier and purer, The fair frail visions of Romance have a use beyond the maxims of the Real.