THE OLDEN TIME.

O! well I mind the olden time,

The sweet, sweet olden time;

When I did long for eve all day,

And watch'd upon the new-mown grass

The shadows slowly eastward pass,

And o'er the meadows glide away,

Till I could steal, with heart elate,

Unto the little cottage-gate,

In the sweet, sweet olden time.

O! well I mind the olden time,

The sweet, sweet olden time;

How all the night I long'd for morn,

And bless'd the thrush whose early note

The silver chords of silence smote

With greetings to the day new-born;

For then again, with heart elate,

I hoped to meet her at the gate,

In the sweet, sweet olden time.

But now hath pass'd the olden time,

That sweet, sweet olden time;

And there is neither morn nor night

That bears a freight of hopes and fears,

To bless my soul in coming years

With any harvest of delight;

For never more, with heart elate,

Can I behold her at the gate,

As in the sweet, sweet olden time.

For the sake of that dear olden time,

That sweet, sweet olden time,

I look forth ever sadly still,

And hope the time may come again,

When Life hath borne its meed of pain,

And stoutly struggled up the hill,

When I once more, with heart elate,

May meet her at another gate,

Beyond the blighting breath of fate,

That chill'd the sweet, sweet olden time.