A full hour afterwards, ambling along,
Came dainty Zephyrus humming a song,
And pausing--the truant--to kiss each flower
That blushed in garden, or field, or bower.
But no one was left to be merry with him,
So he danced with the leaves till the light grew dim,
And, as Twilight was going to sleep in the west,
He, too, fell asleep on a rose's breast.
STRIKE THE CHORDS SOFTLY
Strike the chords softly with tremulous fingers,
While, on the threshold of happiest years,
For a brief moment fond memory lingers,
Ere we go forth to life's conflicts and fears!
Strike the chords softly!--yet no, as we tarry,
Swiftly the morning is gliding away;
Weary ones droop 'neath the burdens they carry,
Toiling ones faint in the heat of the day.
Let us not linger!--Earth's millions are crying
"Come to us, aid us, we grope in the night!
Come to us, aid us, we're perishing, dying--
Give us, oh, give us, the heavenly Light!"
Let us not linger!--our brethren are calling,--
"Aid us, the harvest increases each day;--
Some have grown weary, alas, of their toiling!--
Others have passed from their labors away.
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