  I know not what of sadness strange, Comes over my soul to-day, As I think of Time’s unceasing change, And the friends he has snatched away; For Time has turned those locks to gray, Which were black as a raven’s wing, Of the boys and girls who used to play, Around the Old Rock Spring. II.Strange voices whisper from its depths, The tones of a far church bell, A sweet soprano’s melody A parting friend’s farewell, And phantoms flutter o’er its waves, Pale brides with wreath and ring; Then vanish like the bubbles that burst On the face of the Old Rock Spring. III.Why die the beautiful and strong? Why does the great oak fall? Why fades the rose? These fleeting drops Of water outlive them all: Snow, rain or mist—around the world They sweep on tireless wing, Then fall like mother nature’s tears, On the breast of the Old Rock Spring. IV.“How soon we are forgotten clean When we are gone,” quoth Rip, We perish and the stream of death Engulfs the proudest ship; Image unavailable: BIRTHPLACE OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN Hardin County, Kentucky BIRTHPLACE OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN Hardin County, Kentucky Gone!—like a faded, broken plume Dropped from an eagle’s wing, Or pebble tossed by a sportive child, In the depths of the Old Rock Spring. V.Some in silence and some in strife, Friends, passed to the dim Unknown, In manhood’s prime or the morn of life, And I am left alone; In vain do I essay a song, On a harp with broken string, While the hot tears trickle down my cheeks, And fall in the Old Rock Spring. |
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