A REMONSTRANCE.

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BY ELIZA L. SPROAT.

While the warm, sweet earth rejoices,
And the forests, old and dim,
Populous with little voices,
Raise their trilling hymn,—
Chime our notes in joyous pleading
With the million-tonÉd day;
We are young, and Time is speeding—
Sweet Time, stay!
We would hold the hasty hours,
Ope them to the glowing core,
Leaf by leaf, like folded flowers,
Till they glow no more.
We are mated with the Present,
Bosom friends with dear To-day:
Loving best the latest minute,
Sweet Time, stay!
Sovereign Youth! all dainty spirits
Wait on us from earth and air;
From the common life distilling
But its essence rare.
Golden sounds, to Age so leaden,
Eden sights, to Age so drear:
Sweet illusions, subtle feelings,
Age would smile to hear.
Happy Youth! when fearless bosoms
With their wealth of follies rare,
Loose their thoughts, like summer blossoms,
To the generous air,
When we sit and mock at sorrow,
Looking in each other's eyes;
Greeting every new to-morrow
With a new surprise.
Father Time, if thou wert longing
For a luxury of rest,
I know where the moss is greenest,
Over toward the west:
I would hide thee where the shadows
Cheat the curious eye of day;
I would bury thee in blossoms—
Sweet Time, stay!
Where the bees are ever prosing,
Lulling all the air profound;
Where the wanton poppies, dozing,
Hang their heads around;
Where the rill is tripping ever,
Trilling ever on its way,
Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
All the happy day.
I would keep thee softly dreaming,
Dreaming of eternity,
Till the birds forget their sleeping
In the general glee;
Till the stars would lean from heaven
In the very face of day,
Looking vainly for the even—
Sweet Time, stay!
Hope is with us, chaunting ever
Of some fair untried to be;
Lurking Love hath prisoned never
Hearts so glad and free:
Yet, unseen, a fairy splendour
O'er the prosing world he flings;
Everywhere we hear the rushing
Of his rising wings.
As the tender crescent holdeth
All the moon within its rim,
So the silver present foldeth
All the future dim:
Oh! the prophet moon is sweetest,
And the life is best to-day;
Life is best when Time is fleetest—
Sweet Time, stay!

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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